


Perchance to Dream and Dare To Live

by Sar_Kalu



Series: A String of W.I.P's [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU - Different Universe, Gen, Harry's a cranky old bastard, Investigator Harry Potter, Post Hogwarts, Time Travel, W.I.P!, multiverse au, werewolf!Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 16:19:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13251966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sar_Kalu/pseuds/Sar_Kalu
Summary: The Face of Boe's last known secret would be revealed, You Are Not Alone, to the lonely traveller; but time is so complicated, and the first meeting isn’t always in the right order nor is the circumstances anything like you would expect.In one multiverse, there was one other... in this universe, there were two - provided the circumstances could be fulfilled.





	1. Who Let The Wolf Out?

The sky was overcast. A dreary grey sky that one only finds in Scotland when Harry awoke, his head pounding like he had been trampled by a three ton hippogriff. Lying, prostrate, on rough grass with sticks, twigs and rocks pressing into his back had him groaning slightly as he rolled over. Struggling into an upright seated position, his sides aching from the tumble he had taken down the side of a tall hill, Harry cursed his ‘Potter Luck’ for landing him in whatever situation he had stumbled upon once more. This feeling was only compounded by the fact that his ‘little tumble’ had resulted in him blacking out for close to an hour.

The hill that he had tumbled down after meeting an unfortunately hard surface was now occupied by a tall blue box from -if Harry wasn't mistaken- the nineteen-sixties. Hermione had loved late twentieth century muggle culture and had spent much of her (and Ron’s) retirement funds collecting odds and ends which she would pass onto Fred II and James II as 'ideas' for their prank merchandise. Neither Ginny nor Ron had been able to decide whether to be amused at her being the one to aid the new generation of Weasley Wizarding Wheezes or shocked that it was Hermione was aiding and abetting the new generation of pranksters.

Harry shook his head clearing his thoughts as he stumbled around the hill and down onto a muddy road. Admittedly the lack of any surfacing led Harry to cautiously wonder if ‘track’ wasn’t a better word for the trail. The hard packed dirt was scattered with hoof prints and the deep ruts from a loaded carriage or wagon after all Harry knew the signs well after nearly three decades of teaching at Hogwarts and seven years as a student there. Spinning around in a circle, Harry attempted to understand just where he had turned up, it was definitely Scotland he knew the area’s flora and fauna particularly well; although, if he wasn't mistaken, he was in the lowlands probably around Stirling or Falkirk. He couldn't be completely certain of his location, not even he, at a hundred, was that good; mind you, Harry mused, Neville might have been able to tell. 

Deciding to be oddly sensible for once Harry set off down the road, following the tracks at an easy lope; fifty years as an auror had taught him to pace himself for long distance endurance jogging. All the while he cursed his soft-hearted nature when it came to his only granddaughter, Luna II who was an Unspeakable for the Ministry of Magic. Apparently three years ago had seen an upsurge of trans-dimensional activity which naturally drew the Unspeakable’s to the ‘rift’ like bee’s to honey. And guess who their guinea pig was? 

Luna was going to owe him at least three cups of tea for this, maybe even a homemade treacle tart. Harry nearly drooled at the thought, grinning broadly all the while. 

Harry paused after a particularly high hill, his hands pressed to his knees and gasping for air greedily, apparently he was more out of shape than he had thought. Frowning at the thought, Harry drew his wand and checked his physical health; Ginny would kill him if he died in the middle of Scotland because of his failure to adhere to his Healer’s strict instructions. Bemused at the information flooding his mind from the spell, Harry shrugged and pocketed his wand stumbling down the hill towards a house upon the moor. 

The house was a typical Victorian style villa with a darkly gabled roof and dreary grey-white walls and dark exposed wood. The name of the house stood starkly above the door upon a piece of flat wood, the word carved in curly letters: Torchwood. The name rang bells in Harry mind, bringing up memories of impossible things like space travel, aliens and nights curled up on the sofa with his giggling children with the TV blaring full blast as they cheered the hero onwards. Harry shrugged the feeling off, it hardly mattered at the moment he was simply looking forward to a well-deserved rest and possibly a warm bite to eat. 

Harry trudged down into the courtyard, eyeing the strange men moving about a tall black carriage with four matching black horses in the traces. Men in red frock coats stood around it, their hands gripping their bayonets tightly and Harry wondered just what he'd done to deserve this obviously bad luck. Something big was happening here, and he didn't have any identification on him. Muggles hadn’t used bayonets since the early twentieth century, machine guns having quickly surpassed their antiquated predecessors and while horses and carriages were considered chic they certainly weren’t as ‘posh’ as the one in the courtyard appeared to be. Even the horses appeared to be unnaturally used to their position in the traces, barely tossing their heads or acting the slightest bit spooked at being harnessed to what amounted to a rattling box on wheels. Most odd, Harry mused as he slunk into the courtyard, head cocked to the side as he pondered the mystery before him.

"You! Stop right there!" A Londoner accent ordered him, Harry spun on his heels, hands up in the universal sign for surrender. "Name yourself and state your business!"

Harry smiled weakly at the man in front of him; he wore a black officer’s coat and was clearly in charge of the regiment guarding the house. "Good evening, Captain," Harry winced, not knowing what else to call the man. Frankly, to his mind, it couldn’t have been more obvious that he didn’t belong here. "I'm just a traveller looking for a bit of warmth and perhaps a dry roof over my head for the night. My horse threw me and I find myself with no provisions or shelter, and the moors are dangerous to those ill-equipped for her harsh nights."

Captain Reynolds eyed him suspiciously, obviously wondering what he was doing in the middle of Scotland with nothing on him and Harry could only sympathise with the poor man and his unfortunate predicament. Harry didn’t envy his position in the slightest. "A third stranger in these parts, I don't much like this, but I can hardly turn you away when this is not my house.” Captain Reynolds noted, albeit a tad sourly. “Come with me I shall take you to Lord Robert of the Torchwood Estate, may he be the one to send you on your way."

Harry rolled his eyes at the slightly cruel captain, wondering at the man’s vindictive nature. It was clearly the wrong time for him, the bayonets, the building (recently built) and the soldiers all told a tale of Harry being misplaced in time; if not space. And he couldn’t help but hope that Luna’s contingency plans pulled him back into the correct time. It would really suck to be stuck in Victorian England; although looking up Albus Dumbledore as a young man might be amusing. Harry smirked at the thought, entering the front doors of the villa with soundless steps.

The front hall was seemingly poorly lit although the dark panelled wood walls, dark furniture and dark drapes didn’t help that assumption much in Harry’s opinion. The rough wood floors of the corridors between rooms that Harry now traversed were scuffed from years of use, belying the previous assumption that the building was recently built by quite a bit. Captain Reynolds led Harry to a dining room and knocked swiftly upon the door, the sound was a sharp staccato that had Harry peering interestedly at the door; it did not sound like oak or maple that these doors were usually made of. There was a brief pause before a light voice called out a sharp "enter!" And Captain Reynolds pushed his way inside, dancing around a tall bald servant who seemed immensely out of place. 

A long heavy dining table, occupied by two persons, stood in the equally dark room. Harry was getting a bit sick of the Victorian decor; he missed the simplistic styles of the mid twenty-first century where it was all clean lines and bright, florescent lighting. Much easier to see by when you are an old man of a hundred and thirty. Harry's eyes alighted on a tall man with a balding head of short dark hair and slightly weasel like features; he appeared to be incredibly nervous of his female companion. The lord wore a traditional Victorian suit of dark wool with a white shirt beneath the dark waistcoat and a dark tie about his short neck. The other occupant of the room was a short squat woman who Harry would recognise anywhere, and he swiftly sank into a deep bow.

"Your Majesty, I had no idea." Harry breathed in clear shock; yeah there was no mistaking the era now he thought even as he uttered the traditional greeting of a noble wizard to his queen. "It brings me much honour to be in your presence, Your Grace, may the mother hold you in her arms." 

The Lord smiled weakly, a tremor in his jaws and hands making him look ill. "Greetings stranger, what brings you to my halls?" He asked. The Queen blinked in surprise at being recognised so easily and wondered at the strange address he uttered in her presence. She was a pious and God-fearing woman who did not tout with the old pagan religions.

"I seek shelter for the night, my horse has run off with all my baggage and tonight will surely rain." Harry replied his eyes flicking upwards to the lord of the estate while wondering if he could get away with confunding the man in front of him. After all Queen Victoria was a well-known and very powerful witch and even he, vanquisher of two Dark Lord’s would hesitate in tangling her.

"Rise stranger." The Queen commanded, cutting across the Lord's stuttered objections, her dark eyes silencing him swiftly. "Sir Robert will grant you rooms here, and you will dine with me tonight should you be well enough to do so. It has been many years since I or my sons have been thrown for a horse but well I remember the head-sore it can cause a man."

Harry swiftly nodded in agreement as he stood an easy smile upon his face as he replied: "It would be my pleasure your Majesty." 

"And what shall we call you, traveller." Sir Robert asked his latest guest curiously. Just how many more men and women were on the road this foul evening? How many more would fall to the Priest’s devilry?

Harry winced, rubbing a tender spot on his head that he had found when he had run a hand through his hair. A nervous tick that even after a hundred years, he could not suppress. "Harry, my Lord, just Harry." He held no desire to name himself further; he was supposed to be travelling incognito until he was pulled back by Luna II, into what he now supposed was the future.

"Come seat yourself at my side Harry," the Queen said briskly, noting his discomfiture and pain as he stood there looking lost. "Tell us what you do in Scotland." 

Harry smiled at her and sank into a chair at her side, Sir Robert quickly following suit his eyes nervously tracing the movements of his bald headed servant and the Queen narrowed her eyes at the sight. It was strange this house, Queen Victoria noted solemnly, filled with darkness and secrets; she would get to the bottom of it tonight, once Sir Robert’s other guests had retired for the night.

"I'm travelling around the moors, your Majesty." Harry said with a slight groan of relaxation as he stretched his legs out beneath the table; eyes half-lidded in pleasure. The Queen would have normally rebuked the stranger for his presumption, but up close she could see a smudge of blood at his hair line and so presumed that he deserved to be granted leniency. "I seek to make a definitive guide to the Scottish high and low lands regarding all flora and fauna in and about the country." Harry lied confidently. He knew there would be a book about Scotland written by a Potter in the early 1900's, but his name had been Janus and had been his great-grandfather. The Captain of the Queen’s guard was directed to a seat beside him by the Queen, her face stern as she listened to Harry expound upon the works he 'hoped' to complete.

"All scientific works are a great and wonderful way to express our love for God's mighty creations; I commend you, Harry on your enthusiasm and dedication. I look forward to reading the book once it has been completed." Queen Victoria said calmly as there was a knock at the door and a tall man with messy brown hair was directed to enter. "Ah, Doctor, you have found your way." 

The man called Doctor smiled brilliantly, a broad grin baring his white teeth. "Yes thank you Your Majesty. Very kind of you to let us stay, Sir Robert." He turned to Harry and blinked in surprise clearly not expecting a fourth person to have joined the Queen to dinner.

"This is Harry; he hopes to create a definitive guide to Scotland's flora and fauna." The Queen said calmly. "Unfortunately for him, but perhaps fortunately for us, his horse threw him and ran off forcing him to seek shelter with Lord Robert here at the Torchwood estate." 

The strange Doctor grinned and bounced slightly, "a pleasure to meet a man of science!" The manic man exclaimed, shaking Harry's hand enthusiastically. 

"The Doctor here is a medic of great skill." The Queen murmured on an aside to Harry who was feeling a bit overwhelmed by the Doctor's manic joy.

"The Doctor?" Harry asked, feeling a sense of déjà vu. "Doctor who?"

The Doctor grinned as he swung himself into a seat, all long legs and bony arms. "No, no; just the Doctor."

Harry smiled slightly. "Is it easy, being a definitive like that?" Harry asked, wondering if the Doctor had ever felt like he had. After all, he had been a definitive for most of his life, The Harry Potter. It wasn't easy in his estimation, but maybe the Doctor bore the burden better than he had.

The Doctor paused mid-bounce, clearly stunned by the question. "No, I don't suppose it is." He murmured finally, his dark eyes taking in Harry curiously. Who was this man to question at being a definitive, not many (if any) asked that question of him. It was most intriguing to meet a man who thought beyond even he Doctor’s expectations.

Harry nodded with a slight smile as the bald Butler came in with wide dishes of soup. Harry sniffed it slightly, his stomach aching with hunger as he did so. His eyes tracked the Butler as he paused by the Doctor's chair; there was something off about that man. He smelt strange, like stagnating water and mildew; extremely wrong and not a little bit frightening.

"I regret to inform you that your companion is still getting dressed and will not be joining you for the first course." The Butler stated. Harry frowned while the Doctor brushed the comment off with a breezy grin; surely the Doctor had noticed the strangeness of the servant. Surely it wasn’t just himself.

Something was very much going on in this house, the place stunk of fear and anticipation the servants milling around serving soup and bread for the first course. The scent of fresh cooked bread mixed with the stench of fear, excitement and mistletoe; the last having little place in the situation and caused Harry’s nose to water in sympathy. Harry froze quite suddenly his face draining of colour; it stunk, the only time he could smell emotions was when he was close to transforming. A cold shiver ran up his spine as his gaze shot to the window and the clouds parted enough to reveal the full moon behind their trailing shrouds. Harry's spoon fell with a clatter and he shot upright, feeling the fever grip him. Heat pooling in his chest and racing along his suddenly sweaty skin; not now, he prayed, not yet. Pray Merlin that he managed to hide behind closed doors before he lost all control.

"My apologies, I feel quite ill suddenly, please, excuse me." Harry gasped; sweat rolling down his forehead and back. Queen Victoria frowned but excused him, concern shining in her eyes as she watched him stumble out the door; both the plagued man and monarch ignored the Doctor's concerned queries about if he could help. His backside hovering between a seated and standing position above his chair, one arm extended in supplication.

The Doctor sat back down, concern filling his mind and as he wondered why Rose was taking so long to get changed, he exchanged frowns with Sir Roberts who’s hands were knotted in his lap and his jaw clenched in terror. Putting it out of his mind, the Doctor returned his attention to the Queen as she made a witty remark that had Captain Reynolds laughing a little too loudly and he smiled tightly. There was something very wrong in this house and he planned to get to the bottom of as soon as Rose re-joined him. 

Harry found himself staggering up the stairs in a fugue and he fell into the first room he found. Barring the door with a heavy chair while he managed to find a vial of Wolfsbane potion that he always carried with him whenever he left his home for extended periods of time and downed it swiftly; as he did so, Harry found himself regretting as he always did at this time of the month, his stupid decision to chase Fenrir Greyback in retribution for his crimes after the war. His being a werewolf had been his family's best kept secret, and he felt grateful that he had never passed on the wolf gene to either of his sons or his daughter. It would have been unbearable if he had and Harry had found himself in the unenviable position that Remus Lupin had once occupied; torn between running and celebrating the news of his wife’s pregnancy.

Harry fell to his knees, a cry tearing itself from his throat as he doubled up, his bones grinding and splintering beneath the weight of magic and the wolf curse. It was painful but manageable and besides the potion allowed him to keep his mind when he was transformed which allowed him to control his wolfish alter-ego. He wasn't a large wolf, maybe a meter and a half high at the shoulder, Fenrir had been two meters, but Harry never minded being that little bit smaller. It was easier to remain unnoticed by Ministerial officials if you could hide behind trees and bushes. His pitch black fur was thick and bushy as he shook himself, trying to get the damn stuff to lie flat against his spine. Sirius had mentioned once that he could live with a tail as a dog but fleas were absolute murder; personally Harry disagreed, it was the fur that was by far the worst, it itched like nothing else. Mind, fleas didn’t trouble werewolves, something about their blood being poisonous to the little suckers. 

Harry had no idea how long it had been, but a cry of a wolf tore through the house reverberating along the halls the sound accompanied by the terrified screams of the women and men of the estate. It didn’t take a genius to realise that the danger that so haunted these walls had come knocking; and it seemed that Harry was no longer as alone as he had previously presumed. Bolting upright and throwing himself at the door, Harry swept the chair away from the doorway and with a mighty heave, crashed through the heavy wood door. The sound was overlapped by yet another howl and Harry’s ears swivelled to track the sound his lips drawing back from the elongated fangs that decorated his narrow jaws in challenge, his green eyes glowing maliciously. Harry was an alpha wolf and he assuredly did not appreciate another stalking his territory and prey.

 

Harry slunk down the corridor and into a nearby room where he watched in surprise as the Queen, Sir Robert and the Doctor accompanied by a nearly naked blonde girl hurried in from a nearby room. The Queen appeared to be more than slightly shocked at the sight of the large brown wolf that Harry had caught a glimpse of before the door slammed shut. Great yellow eyes and poisonous teeth had gleamed with deadly intent and even now Harry could hear the other wolf’s struggle to batter through the heavy wood door, claws scraping deep furrows in the hard wood. The blonde girl spun to the Doctor who appeared to be elated if frightened by these turn of events and Harry blinked in surprise to hear a modern east Londoner accent spill from her pouty lips.

“What do we do?” She demanded of her friend, staring at the door in shock as it shuddered once more under the weight of the ravening beast on the other side.

The Doctor paused, clearly uncertain in the light of a legend stepping from myth and into reality. “We... run!” He decided, bouncing on his toes in an excess of energy. Harry curled his lip in a wolfish smirk, understanding finally, the man’s unnaturally manic behaviour earlier. The Doctor was a man of action not domesticity and Harry wouldn’t be surprised if questioned, that the Doctor would answer that yes, he really was in his element right now; as he certainly appeared to be.

The blonde stared in undiluted shock at the Doctor, her mouth gaping in obvious horror. “Is that it?!” She exclaimed, throwing a hand about to encompass the room.

The Doctor shot his friend an exasperated glare, frustration filling his narrow features. “You got any silver bullets?” He asked her, nearly sending Harry into peals of chuffing laughter at his tone of voice. He was almost tempted to step from the shadows and scare the blonde into hysterics, perhaps if she got them out of the way now she wouldn’t keep asking stupid questions. Even Sir Robert was staring at the blonde in exasperation.

“Not on me, no!” The blonde snapped in reply, clearly understanding the Doctor’s position. Harry settled onto his haunches, eyes fixed determinedly upon the still shaking door, fine cracks having appeared in the wood during the intervening discussion. He grinned in anticipation, he would get his fight. 

“There we are then, we run.” The Doctor said while rolling his eyes. He turned to the Queen who had watched the pair with suspicious eyes and a thin mouth. She was not amused. “Your Majesty, as a Doctor, I recommend a vigorous jog.” 

The Doctor grinned as he jogged on the spot to demonstrate and Harry nearly choked at the man’s presumptuousness before understanding that even a doctor could not order a monarch to run from a foe-beast. Sir Robert scanned the hallway, clearly having sensed that the group was not alone and Harry pinned his ears to his head and slid deeper into the shadows. 

“Good for the health.” The Doctor continued, still grinning. He held out a hand and practically snatched up the Queens. “Come on!”

The Doctor clung to the Queen's hand and practically towed her from the room; Harry watched them go with distinct pleasure, his eyes landing once more upon the straining door and the werewolf behind it. Frowning in thought as the door shuddered and stilled, and then to Harry’s wary surprise, the door, with almighty force, burst inwards. The brown werewolf tumbled inside the room. Ignoring the viciously snarling black wolf that was backed up in a corner, the brown wolf hurried past and after the Doctor and the Queen, ignoring the smaller black wolf and Harry cursed in realisation.

The brown wolf was hunting; it would never see Harry as a threat unless he came between the brown wolf and his meal. A dangerous game in and of itself. 

Baring his teeth in self-mockery, Harry darted from the room, hard on his opponent’s heels. The brown wolf led Harry a merry chase through the winding corridors, howling and barking in increasing excitement until the pair reached a stairwell. Then, with a mocking snarl, the brown wolf darted up the stairs. 

Harry howled in rage, understanding too little too late. His opponent is as intelligent as himself and knew that he was there. This was a game to the brown wolf, it did not consider Harry to be a threat at all. The alpha in Harry burned with fury at the dismissal, and with great leaping bounds, Harry chased the other wolf up the stairs. 

Above them Harry could hear the Doctor encouraging his companions, his voice egging the brown wolf on, knowing it was close to its quarry. While below, the humans panicked shouts spurred Harry into greater efforts; he would be damned before Queen Victoria became a werewolf. History, his own personal history, would be re-written if she did get bitten.

“Come on! Come on!” The Doctor’s voice echoed loudly down a hallway and Harry let out another howl, his voice singing above the deeper roars of the brown werewolf. So close, yet so damn far. Harry barked in annoyance.

Harry crested the stairwell to the sight of the Queen staring at the rude Captain Reynolds, who was holding a bayonet primed and ready, targeting at the brown werewolf’s head. Harry bared his teeth, this time in rage and realisation, he will be too late to save this brave man’s life. 

So caught up in his mental recrimination and determination, he misses the Doctor’s stunned expression as he catches sight of the prowling black wolf behind the much larger brown werewolf. A crack echoed down the hall and the brown werewolf reeled backwards, bumping into Harry who takes the chance to sink his fangs into the werewolf’s rump and with sharp tugs, tried to drag him back downstairs.

Harry was so intent on his task that his completely missed the blunt paws that smashed down upon his jaws, forcing Harry to release the wolf and, with a grunt of shock, stumbled backwards in pain and stunned wits. A shout drew Harry’s attention back to the Captain and he staggered upright in order to fling himself, once more, upon the brown wolf’s back. The Doctor staring between the brown werewolf and the brave Captain in horror, his mouth moving in a single word that Harry had no trouble identifying: “no.”

“Then remove yourself, Ma'am.” The Captain directed firmly, assured once more in his position in the Queen’s life while ignoring the battling canines. That there was one more beast to slay was merely a footnote to the brave man. As he half-listened to the arguing people, Harry had the feeling that he had missed a part of the conversation. The brown wolf approached the corner he hid behind slowly and deliberately and Harry who lay against the opposite wall unnoticed by the Captain, who was sighting down his gun, cursed his weak limbs that refused to co-operate; they felt like so much jelly. Just how strong was that foul beast? “Doctor, you stand as Her Majesty's Protector.” Captain Reynolds continued, never once looking behind him. “And you, Sir Robert, -- you're a traitor to the crown.”

Captain Reynolds cocked his gun one last time, determination present in ever line of his body and Harry growled in frustration as his paws slipped once more from beneath him. The brown werewolf was so close now, his golden eyes glittering with malicious intent and the Doctor was staring between the predator and his intended prey with desperation. 

“Bullets can't stop it!” The Doctor reminded the Captain fiercely, trying to tug the man away from his fate.

Captain Reynolds bared his teeth in a cold smile, shaking the Doctor’s clinging hands off his shoulder. “They'll buy you time. Now, run!” He ordered, sighting down his gun one last time.

Harry watched the Captain ready himself; feet firmly planted upon the ground his determination to die for the good of the country present in every line of his face. The group of four having already fled as the brown werewolf rounded the corner; even murderous beasts once bitten are twice shy. 

Harry tried to launch himself in the path of the brown werewolf only to misjudge his leap and fall a meter or so short. The sight that greeted his dazed eyes was not pleasant; Captain Reynolds had been shredded and blood seeped steadily from his mortal wounds. Harry had never seen a werewolf that refused to eat what it had killed and wondered at the reasoning behind the brown wolf’s cruelty. 

Lifting his green gaze, Harry watched the brown wolf sniff around the edges of the neighbouring room and he frowned at the beast’s unnatural fear that prevented his entry through flimsy wooden doors. Harry moaned at his aching ribs that throbbed in time with his rapid pulse. The brown wolf had disappeared around the corner; the only indication of his position being the occasional howls and snuffling that could be heard intermitted between the scratching at the wooden panels. 

Harry heaved himself upright and tracked down the brown beast that was moving steadily upwards, towards the roof. Harry followed, ignoring aching ribs and muscles, his nose scenting the air and his eyes gleaming with delight at being able to hunt once more. It had been so long; his children had long since grown up and moved out, no longer willing to set aside time to play as they had as teens with their furry and occasionally violent werewolf father. While none of his grandchildren knew of his affliction and his extended family avoided the topic religiously, Harry did so miss those days. 

The brown werewolf had climbed the slippery, shingled roof, its great paws carefully and dextrously moving between slippery tiles and Harry stood anxiously as the wolf tracked its way towards a large dome of glass. The observatory roof would never hold the beast’s weight but Harry, despite being unafraid of heights, was nervous of attacking the beast on the roof; it would surely turn out to be an unmitigated disaster. 

Undecided Harry watched and waited, the brown wolf was now standing in the middle of the glass dome and grinning down at whatever was below him. With a shock of realisation, Harry let out a howl of rage at the wolf managing to skirt whatever prevented it from accessing the library through the doors. With a massive crash, the wolf broke through the glass and fell into the room below, Harry watched him fall with surprise, baring his teeth in frustration as he did so. Spinning around, Harry bolted along the roof, his ears pricked for the slightest sound. Below him he could hear howls of pain, shrieks of fear and yells of “OUT! OUT! OUT!” and “Come on!” as the Doctor chivvied the Queen and their companions to safety.

Following the ruckus below him, Harry tracked and backtracked along the roof until he stood below a round protrusion that occupied at least a third of the roof space available. A single window was available and Harry watched as the Doctor and Sir Robert entered, flinging the door open wide and hurrying the Queen and the blonde inside. Their eyes were wide and they were all panting with exertion; clearly they were running for their lives and Harry knew that the wolf could not be far behind.

“No mistletoe on these doors, your father wanted the wolf to get inside!” The Doctor was exclaiming, his eyes wild with excitement. “Get inside, I just need time! Is there any way of barricading this?!”

“Just do your work-” Sir Robert started to shout as Harry backed up and then charged with enough propulsion to crash through the window stunning the four humans in the room. “-and I'll defend it,” he trailed off staring at their surprise visitor.

“Oh.” The Doctor said in shock, equally surprised at the black wolf’s appearance. “Harry?” He inquired.

Harry lolled his tongue out of his gaping jaws, grinning broadly. “Someone ask for more time?” He asked, the words coming out in several rumbling whines and growls. The Doctor blinked in surprise once more, surprised that the black wolf was a) able to speak relatively clearly and b) in possession of all its mental faculties.

“Yes.” The Doctor finally replied. Harry barked a laugh and flung himself through the door, leaving the blonde girl and the Queen to stare after him before turning upon the Doctor.

“It’s either our mysterious guest or Sir Robert, who would you have chosen?” The Doctor demanded as he spun around in a circle, noting the wheel that appeared to be clunky and heavy and the telescope that pointed at the roof. Rose and Queen Victoria stared at him, aghast.

Harry barrelled down the corridor, his great paws stretching out to grip the carpet beneath his claws and then hurling him at great speed at the brown wolf that had just turned the corner. The other wolf was perhaps half again his size in weight and height, but such things only aided in battle between were’s. It was ferocity and cunning that could turn the tide of any battle. 

Virtues that Harry held in spades. 

Harry halted just out of reach of the other wolf, coldly assessing his opponent; after hours of running and hunting he finally had the other wolf right where he wanted him. Golden eyes gleamed beneath shaggy brows and long fangs curved downwards in the widely gaping mouth and Harry bared his own for the nth time that night: challenge seen and accepted. The brown wolf lunged forwards and Harry’s muscles, tightly coiled, released. 

With a giant spring that sent him soaring, Harry flung himself forward and slammed, with the same force as a battering ram, against the brown wolf’s side. 

The pair of werewolves tumbled to the floor, their bodies a fiercely writhing knot of fur, fangs and claws. Blood scented the air and all the warily watching time lord could see, from his position at the telescope, was the snarling maws of the wolves and their viciously glowing eyes of green and gold. Harry fell back, his thick neck-ruff standing on end, as he backed away from his staggering opponent shaking his head to clear the fogging of his eyes; the other wolf was far stronger than any other werewolf Harry had fought and he wondered if he would survive this encounter.

Behind him, Harry could hear the discussion taking place between the blonde girl, who had been identified as Rose, and the Doctor; both human’s cutting across the Queens objections as they fought to save their lives with Sir Robert attending them the best he could. The Doctor paused long enough to stare at Harry as he let out an outraged howl, the brown wolf having picked up his smaller rival in giant paws and slammed him back down on the hard ground. The brown werewolf's teeth were bared in a savage grin at the sight, before the Doctor turned away and shot towards the cogs and gears that controlled the telescope. It was now or never.

“Rose!” The Doctor called, dragging his companion’s eyes from the terrible fight that occurred just beyond the doorway. “Sir Robert!”

Rose and Sir Robert ran over to the Doctor, standing helplessly at his side as they desperately tried to ignore the various yelps, shouts and howls that were vocalised by the smaller black furred wolf that seemed to be struggling to survive the fight he had initiated. A violent roar was heard before an ominous thud sounded behind them and the Doctor was jolted into action, his terrified brown eyes darting between the open doorway and the frozen Queen.

“Lift it! Come on!” The Doctor encouraged.

It took far too long in the Doctor’s frenzied mind, but slowly the telescope began to rise and the ceiling began to part, revealing the crisp cool air of a Scottish autumn evening. Sir Robert grunted as he threw his entire weight behind the wheel, understanding the necessity of the telescope despite not understanding the ‘why’. A yelp sounded behind them and the Doctor’s eyes darted up long enough to watch the brown wolf standing above the prostrate black wolf, the green eyes defiant even as his death became more likely. 

Rose whimpered at the sight and turned to her friend and companion, staring at him in desperation. “Is this the right time for stargazing?” She asked him, trying to fight against the increasing fear and pressure she felt under the weight of the situation.

The Doctor grinned, grunting as he did so. “Yes, it is.” He assured her, shooting Sir Robert a proud look as the gears continued to grind and the man continued to struggle with the terrible weight that was set against them.

“You said this thing doesn't work!” Rose shouted as a single howl rose behind them, too low in timbre to be the smaller black ruffed wolf leaving the knowledge that the brown wolf was free once more to hunt his intended prey. The blonde haired woman shot the Queen a frightened look and watched the older lady raise a crucifix to ward of the evil that stalked her.

“It doesn't work as a telescope, because that's not what it is!” The Doctor tried to explain as he and Sir Robert continued to struggle with the mechanism. “It's a light chamber! It magnifies the light rays, like a weapon.” The Doctor let out another grunt of exertion, “we've just got to power it up!”

Terrified, Rose felt her wits desert her as she stared down the hall to where the brown wolf stood panting as though it had ran a long distance above a seemingly diminished black furred being. “But there's no electricity!” She cried, feeling horridly scared and worried for the fate of the black wolf, wondering if the beast had survived the terrible pounding it had received from its brown furred counterpart.

The Doctor grunted in reply and turned to the light chamber trying to ignore Sir Robert, who upon realising the Queen’s lack of defence, had firmly planted himself between the monarch and the increasingly dangerous threat that had turned its golden eyed attention upon her. Behind the brown wolf the black furred bundle stirred, as if understanding that its task was not yet done. 

“OH!” Rose gasped in shocked understanding, finally piecing everything together. “Moonlight! But it needs moonlight! It's made by moonlight!”

“You're seventy percent water, but you can still drown.” The Doctor shouted, his voice unnaturally loud in the gathering silence. “Come on!” He yelled and Rose darted over to his side, throwing herself against the mechanism that controlled the alignment of the light chamber. 

“Come on!” The Doctor grunted, his face a rictus of concentration. 

Beside the struggling pair, Sir Robert stepped forwards armed with nothing but his bare fists and glared at the approaching brown furred werewolf. “I committed treason for you; and now my wife will remember me with honour!” He roared, stepping forward to tackle the great wolf with little regard for his own life. 

Behind him Queen Victoria closed her eyes in silent anguish and regret, understanding that yet another subject of hers had laid down his life in her protection. The grisly sounds of the wolf’s victory turned to a shocked yelp as the battered black wolf flung itself forwards once more upon the heels of his counterpart and slammed his iron jaws upon the other wolfs’ vulnerable legs. 

A snap echoed in the air and the Doctor stared in shock at the sight of Harry’s jaws spilling with fresh blood and the brown wolf prostrate on the ground and almost whimpering. The bloodied mess of Sir Robert lay on the ground beneath them and Queen Victoria had averted her eyes in Victorian squeamish sensibility.

With a hollow clank the light chamber fell into alignment and the Doctor pulled Rose aside as moonlight filled the chamber and bounced along the prisms on the inside. The brown wolf struggled to its feet once more and made to attack the Queen; but Harry rallied once more and howled in defiance and rage, dragging the brown beasts attention to him once again. 

The Doctor lunged forwards, a giant diamond appearing in his hands as he did so, and, as he hit the ground with a quiet thud, he threw it across the floor and Harry watched, bemused, as the rock skittered to a halt just beneath the prism. Bemusement transformed to blank shock as Harry watched the diamond channel the light into a single cohesive beam of pure white light. Before his very eyes, the great beam of light hit the brown wolf and lifted the beast up into the air. Then, like magic, Harry stared in shocked amazement as the wolf retook its human form before his very stunned gaze.

“Make it brighter. Let me go.” The wolf-man pleaded of the Doctor, his voice tired and weary. His time, here on Earth, was done.

The Doctor slowly walked across to the light chamber and flicked a switch with grim determination and, with a final, mournful howl from the wolf form, the creature vanished in the the ether and the light slowly faded into darkness. Harry filled with sorrow in the knowledge that the brown beast, for all its danger and crazed insanity, was dead; lifted his head and howled a long lyrical tribute in remembrance. While the blonde, Rose breathed a huge sigh of relief, glad that the whole mess was over. 

“Your Majesty? Did it bite you?” The Doctor asked the Queen, noticing her preoccupation with a small cut upon her wrist.

Startled by the Doctor attention, Queen Victoria replied without thinking: “No, it's... it's a cut.” Her voice was breathless and relieved at having survived the past night. She was a good, God-fearing woman, who did not appreciate legend and fantasy making an appearance into her neat and ordered world.

“If that thing bit you…” The Doctor said, his voice was wary and Harry found himself sharing in the strange man’s concern, frowning lightly at his many times great-grandmother. If the Queen of England became a werewolf there was no telling how history might change; or if he would even be born.

“It was a splinter of wood when the window in library came apart.” The Queen dismissed swiftly, no longer interested in defending herself to the strange doctor who had just saved her life. Because saviour or not, she was the Queen and he had no business questioning her authority.

Biting his lip in thought the Doctor held out his hand, concern shining in his brown eyes. “Let me see,” he pleaded, and watching the exchange, Harry silently urged the woman to trust the strange manic man.

The Queen straightened as best she could, her eyes frosting at the perfunctory tone the Doctor took. “It is nothing!” She snapped frostily.

The Doctor stared at the Queen in disbelief and to Harry’s narrowed gaze the Doctor obviously did not believe her, but manage to refrain from saying so and Harry huffed in annoyance. Apparently all queens were incapable of bending their necks to ask for help, even if they needed it. 

It was that sort of thinking that nearly got Queen Elizabeth II killed during the Dark Lord Nautica’s’ uprising. Although she could have been forgiven for not taking the Dark Lord seriously, even Harry had been hard pressed to not die laughing when he first heard the dark wizards chosen title.

xXx

Harry stood in the library as he waited for the sun to rise above the horizon; the ruined interior of the Torchwood estate showed the full extent of the battle between the alien werewolf and the Doctor and Harry was hard pressed not to admire the man. It was obvious that the Doctor did this sort of thing regularly and without expectation of any kind of thanks. Green eyes lingered upon the mist that wreathed the valley before heat began to travel up his spine, pooling as it always did in his chest, head and stomach. He fell to his knees with a subtle groan and shut his eyes, lips firmly pressed together.

Behind the green-eyed wizard, a tall lanky man stepped through the doorway, brown eyes intent on the strange change that was occurring before him. Harry barely whimpered, the only sound that alerted his watcher to the obvious pain that he was in, was the audible grind of his bones and the occasional snap of ligaments as they realigned the man’s shape from wolf to human. The black fur receded into the man’s spine and limbs writhed unnaturally and the Doctor winced in tacit sympathy. The change Harry was going through appeared to be more than a little painful. 

Finally the heat subsided and Harry was able to think beyond the excruciating pain that he had just weathered for yet another night. Sighing heavily he forced himself upright, stooping to retrieve the clothing that he had fetched from the room that Sir Robert had assigned him. Was it only last night? It seemed longer than that. 

Tiredly, Harry wasted little time in pulling on his white button down shirt and black slacks that were styled in the latest of wizarding fashion. Over the top of his white shirt he pulled a black and green brocaded waistcoat and in a fit of rebelliousness, forwent the stiff dragon hide shoes decided to sprawl upon the floor instead. His wand was, once again, bound to his wrist by a wand-holder and feeling slightly more presentable, Harry turned just enough to acknowledge the Doctor who watched him from the doorway.

“Do you always act the peeping tom, or that a new development?” He asked dryly despite not being all that fussed. He was well over a hundred; what did he have to fear from young men watching him get dressed?

The Doctor smirked as he crossed the room and seated himself beside the other man, amused at his sally. “I only peep when things are interesting.” The Doctor replied, feeling oddly at ease with the dark haired man beside him. “You’re not from this time are you?” 

“Nope,” Harry agreed, nonchalantly peering at his fingernails and flaring his nostrils as he analysed the strange man’s scent. It was driving him mad! It smelt like nothing Harry had ever smelt. It was age, pain, anger and something Harry was tempted to label compassion. “Nor are you, friend; but then I rather doubt you are human either going from your scent.” Harry’s brows furrowed in confusion to the time lord’s amusement. “Never in all my years have I scented anything like it.”

And didn’t that just frustrate him?

The Doctor blinked in mild surprise, he supposed that the green-eyed man would be able to tell his ‘alien-ness’ after having met humans. “Nor are you human, so let us cease this game and speak frankly.” The Doctor stated firmly, unwilling to believe that the man beside him could possibly be human. Humans could not change their shape, they could not smell ‘strangeness’ nor could they do anything that this wolf-man could. 

“Not human?” Harry asked blankly. “I assure you Doctor, I am very human. Born and raised in London, went to school in Scotland and can trace my lineage all the way to the Roman Conquest of Albion.” 

The Doctor stared at his oddball companion and wondered if he wasn’t mistaken for the first time in his nine hundred years; but surely no human could do the things this man had done. “Who are you?”

“No one you know.” Harry deflected, too involved in the puzzle the Doctor’s words presented. The Doctor claimed that he couldn’t be human because of all that Harry had spoken in relation to himself; while Queen Victoria had been genuinely surprised to see a werewolf, when Harry knew that she had been nearly assassinated by three weres not four years prior to this date. Was it possible that he hadn’t just left the wrong time behind? Rifts were, from what he understood, gateways to other times; maybe other worlds as well?

The Doctor’s keen hearing could hear his companion’s breathing pick up and a faint sheen of sweat coated his brow and knew that the man had just thought of something that frightened him. “What is it?” He asked, eyes searching the other man’s face.

“Nothing,” Harry replied shakily, he had no desire to present this man his weakness just yet. Over a hundred years as a teacher, fighter, and auror had taught him the value of keeping ones cards close to ones chest. “Who are you then, if you are not human?”

The Doctor, well educated in human evasion, knew that Harry would speak no more of his origins this day and wondered if the strange green-eyed man would join he and Rose in the TARDIS. “I am the Doctor, a Time Lord.”

“Time Lord?” Harry asked curiously, sniffing the Doctor’s arm that was closest to him. “Is that why you smell so strange?”

“Strange?” The Doctor asked, unsure if he should be embarrassed, angry or offended by the question. “How am I strange?”

“You smell of age, loneliness, anger and pain.” Harry replied, his eyes distant as he sorted through the scents that rolled off the Doctor like an incoming tide. “Danger as well, threat and rage; you are a predator, Doctor and one I would not like to fight.”

The Doctor closed his eyes in pain; squeezing his eyelids shut tightly and wondered if he would ever escape the pain of losing his people. “I have lost-”

“More than you could readily admit, I would wager.” Harry cut in, his eyes incredibly compassionate as he stared at the man by his side. “But you equally smell of kindness, the protectiveness a bitch wolf holds for her pups and a compassion for those around you; even your enemies I should think. You are not a bad man, indeed your light and goodness shines from you like a beacon in the dark. 

“You remind me of a friend of mine, he too bore more than the average man and was both reviled and beloved for it and in the end he stood alone but for a young boy who held him dearest in his heart; one who would gladly call him grandfather had times not been different and war not upon them.”

“He died?” The Doctor couldn’t help but ask, assuming that the man beside him was the boy spoken of.

“Sadly yes, but he lived a long and full life for all that he was held to an impossible standard.” Harry murmured reaching out with one hand and tangling his fingers with the Doctor’s. “Sometimes all we need in life is a friend and a hand to hold when the day turns to night.”

The Doctor laughed delightedly at that, understanding what Harry was trying to say and he grinned manically at the younger man. “You are much older than your age suggests.”

Harry’s eyes dimmed, he had seen himself in the mirror earlier, the glamour’s that hid his youth had fallen away in transit and he could only assume that everyone had seen his apparent youthfulness earlier last night. “Appearances can be deceiving, Doctor,” was all he said in reply, amusement gleaming behind his green eyes.

The Doctor stared at the younger man in surprise, wondering what Harry could mean when the green-eyed man disentangled himself from the Doctor’s grip and stood; pausing in his exit only long enough to pull on his boots and great coat, tying his tie as he left the room with a jaunty wave. 

The Doctor sat on the floor, staring out the window across the Scottish moors with hazy eyes that were lost in contemplation as he thought upon the dark haired, green eyed mystery that walked the halls of Torchwood Manor. Behind him Rose slipped into the room, taking in the lazy posture of her friend and travelling companion with bemused eyes; how the Doctor could relax after the night they had just had was beyond her comprehension.

“Doctor?” Rose’s hesitant voice broke through the time lord’s reverie and he turned his head enough to smile at her, keeping on eyes on the quietly misty valley. “The Queen wants us in the Hall. It looks like everyone’s going to be there.”

The Doctor smiled and jumped upright snatching up Rose’s hand and feeling a sense of loss that it wasn’t Harry’s. “Well then, we’d better not be late!”

Laughing, Rose allowed herself to be dragged behind the manic Doctor revelling in his laid back attitude and good humour. It had been so long since they had laughed like this, she thought, grinning madly. Things hadn’t been the same since Sarah Jane and Rose was glad that she was getting her Doctor back. All his brilliant smiles and manic joy; it was like coming home after a long day. 

xXx

Harry leant against the funny blue box that stood out against the landscape like a sore thumb, his green eyes fixed determinedly upon the duo that were laughing and joking as they walked towards him. The Doctor’s voice soared across the moors like a clear toned bell, all good humour and ridiculous joy and Harry smiled at the sight. A man like the Doctor, for all his losses and pains, should never be sad so long.

“Could be!” The Doctor exclaimed as he made his way up the hill to the TARDIS, not having noticed the lanky stranger that leant against her side.

Rose stared at him incredulously, puffing slightly from the exertion. “Queen Victoria's a werewolf?”

“Could be! And, her children had the Royal Disease. Maybe she gave them a quick nip.” The Doctor joked, fishing out the key to his beloved time ship feeling her amused hum at the back of his mind. He grinned broadly at Rose’s look of disbelief.

“So, the Royal Family are werewolves?” Rose asked, clarifying what she thought the Doctor was saying.

“One can only hope not.” Harry drawled cutting across the Doctor’s reply and drawing the time lords gaze.

“Harry!” The Doctor exclaimed leaping forwards to drag the stunned man into a hug. “I thought you’d left without saying goodbye!”

Harry grunted and smirked, “and let you run off and get into more trouble, time lord? I think not.”

Rose gaped between the two men, slightly put out that the Doctor was ignoring her. “Sorry, but who are you?”

Harry turned to the pretty blonde muggle and held out a hand. “Harry Black, Miss; and you?”

“Rose Tyler.” Rose answered with a blush as Harry swept her hand up and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. Harry shot her a rakish grin and winked, sending Rose into a deeper shade of red despite Harry’s amusement.

“Harry Black?” The Doctor commented cheekily. “And here I thought I’d never get a last name out of you.”

Harry barked a laugh and raked a hand through his wild black hair. “Yes well, I have several so I might as well use them.”

The Doctor’s eyebrows rose in surprise at that admission before focussing on something that had been niggling at the back of his mind for a while. “Why did you help us? You could have died.”

“Anyone could die at any time, Doctor; you ought to know that at your age.” Harry said calmly. “As for why, suffice to say that I have a vested and personal interest in Queen Victoria’s survival.”

“Personal, how?” The Time Lord asked curiously. Harry just smirked and tapped the side of his nose winking as he did so. The Doctor barely refrained from cursing in Gallifreyan, and he only managed that because he knew the value of information. Harry was a puzzle that just refused to co-operate.

“Until next time Doctor,” Harry farewelled, waving a jaunty hand and swaggering off back down the hill leaving the Doctor and Rose staring after him. “Perhaps we shall meet again sometime; we are bound to after all, time traveller.”

The Doctor stared after the strange man in frustration and refrained from stamping his foot. “Now that is Class A enigmatic.” The Doctor noted with some annoyance. 

“Who was he, Doctor?” Rose asked.

“No idea, but apparently we’ll meet again if he is to be believed. Time travel, anything could happen.” The Doctor grinned as he pushed open the TARDIS’ doors. “But almost everyone in the United Kingdom ends up in London at some stage.”

“And the TARDIS loves London!” Rose added excitedly as she followed the time lord inside, grinning at the thought of meeting the enigmatic Harry once more. “What did he mean by personal and vested interest?”

“No idea.” The Doctor admitted, running over the wording Harry had used in his mind. “But… No… Surely not?”

“What?” Rose asked as she moved to grab the TARDIS’ centre console with both hands, staring at the Doctor in confusion.

“Werewolves!” The Doctor shouted as he slammed the break down.

“What?!” Rose shouted, over the sound of the TARDIS de-materialising. 

“Harry is a werewolf!”

“SO IS VICTORIA!” Rose shouted in sudden understanding. “Are you just saying we met a future royal?”

The Doctor shot Rose a broad grin and roared with manic laughter and Rose, realising the ridiculousness of her extrapolation, joined in. Before long the Doctor lets out a howl and Rose shrieks with laughter, neither friend believing what both knew to be true. Harry Black was related to Queen Victoria and was a werewolf; life couldn’t get any stranger than that!


	2. Aliens, Snowmen and Impossible Girls

**[1880]**

 

Harry had been rambling for months now; the Scottish moors had given way to the rolling green hills of West Anglia and the untamed wilderness to fields of coppice and neat and ordered lanes. It was nowhere near as domestic as the land would be in a hundred years or so, but it was not the uncultivated rocky stretch that pre-Roman Britain would have been like. Or so Harry imagined. 

 

It was easy to get around out here, buy a horse using transfigured gold pieces and then sit on its back like a sack of potatoes while desperately trying to assure the equine beast that: a) you didn’t want eat it; and b) you knew what you were doing as you sat unsurely in the stiff leather saddle. 

 

Actually Harry felt as though he was doing rather well, it couldn’t be more obvious that magic didn’t exist here and that he appeared to be many, many decades younger than he was. Not that this meant that he would be attempting to apparate any time soon, he was forbidden it after all. Healers, nasty bastards with a sadistic streak a mile wide; and don’t let anyone tell you any different. Harry had learnt this after an experience with one particularly determined Healer, who felt that Harry was being unreasonable in his attempts to escape. The memory, involving duct tape, a banana and a shower head, still gave him nightmares.

 

Smirking to himself, Harry leant backwards, the creak of the leather saddle the only noise upon the three mile stretch of mud, ruts and grass before him. London was fifty miles distant and he felt an odd pull towards that city; perhaps in the hope that he would see something let alone anything familiar to his eyes. Although, Harry had to profess to being sad at never tasting the home-brew fire-whiskey that the Cauldron sold on cold winter nights, the open fire pulling in a cheery crowd of regulars who were more than willing to overlook his famous lightning bolt scar and luminous green eyes.

 

The days quickly past in a haze of creaking leather, muddy hoof beats and a mild addiction to rum that could be found hanging from the saddle bow beside Harry. Green eyes, lidded and lazy, watched the mad and desperate eke out a poor living at the side of the road. Any sympathy for the poor of the Victorian era had long since left his mind after he’d been held up for a ransom of three hundred pounds. As if _anyone_ carried that kind of money on them when travelling with nought but a saddle cloth for a blanket and a cloak to keep the weather off. He should have run the bastards through. 

 

Still, Hermione’s ever-present voice as his conscience had disallowed that brief thought and had simply allowed him to run the foul smelling cretins off the road with a swift boot to his horse’s rump. Hades hadn’t been pleased to say the least; the dun gelding having little appreciation for any kind of exercise. Hades was much like Harry in that regard.

 

Harry’s arrival in London went mostly unnoticed as he sold his horse for a few silvers at the _Rose and Crown_ in East London. The kind brown eyed lass who worked there was more than happy to set him up for the night free of charge; or at least, a mild fee that was taken from the price of his horse. Admittedly Harry didn’t inquire too closely; he was simply pleased to have a roof over his head and bath drawn for him, regardless of the decreasing temperature. The room could even be called fine, if one discounted the thin linens and faded drapes but he had paid for comfort, not finery and frankly after sleeping in a ditch or beneath various wagons Harry wasn’t too picking in his lodgings; grinning broadly at anyone and everyone who stood in his way.

 

Elsie laughed at Harry stumbling thanks, watching the wild haired man’s body shake so violently that she was fairly surprised to see him still standing. Bob watched the stranger stagger up the stairs with frozen feet and wondered at what was so important that a young gentleman was driven to abandoning home and hearth in the middle of winter. It was mighty strange that was for sure and the innkeeper kept a weathered eye upon the man when he returned from his bathing in a fresh suit of dark wool and a bright grin upon his clean face. Elsie flirted shamelessly with the gentleman but not once did the man rise to her quips or witty remarks, preferring to laugh boisterously instead that brilliant grin forever splitting his face in his delight.

 

“So where’ve you come from then, eh?” Elsie asked their stranger with such bright eyes and grinning teeth.

 

Harry tossed his head back and regarded the waitress with brilliant green eyes as he grinned that wide, broad grin of his and Bob was forced to admit that the man had yet to overstep his bounds and that Elsie, should anything happen, would undoubtedly have asked for it. Despite the over flirting and innuendo that had been passed back and forth the green-eyed man had yet to make a move. 

 

“Nowhere I haven’t been before,” Harry replied, draining his ale with ease. That was another thing; Harry never answered a question straight, as if he was running from a horrible past that he held no desire to return to.

 

Elsie rolled her soft brown eyes and turned away, meeting Bob’s eyes with ones filled with frustration and confusion. Moving to her employers side, Elsie frowned with an odd sort of sourness to her expression and they watched as the lanky young gentleman slunk back upstairs to his room, leaving the common room that bit dimmer for his absence; the regular patrons having laughed louder, longer and more joyfully when the youth had been there beside them swilling their cheap ale to the tune of a second rate bard. 

 

“What’s up with him, then?” Elsie demanded with some annoyance, staring after their strange but kind guest with what could only be described as disappointment. 

 

“No idea luv, but you’re getting ideas above your station again.” Bob rumbled in reply, running a dish-cloth around the rim of a newly cleaned tankard. Bob was a strong man with kind blue eyes who cared for all his workers with a passion rivalling the passion that he ran his inn with. His thick body was always dressed in the same white smock and tan pants and Elsie shot him a sour look, her dissatisfaction with her way of life couldn’t have been more obvious than at that moment.

 

“What, like Clara does?” Elsie scoffed at the idea. “Let me tell you Bob Cooper I ain’t getting no ideas above my station; I’m too old for fairy tales!”

 

Bob snorted in mild disbelief but allowed his server’s words to wash over him like water off a ducks back. He held no account for the strangeness of women-folk and he had no understanding for those who would prefer to work as a butcher or God forbid a factory worker above being an innkeeper or server.

 

“Sure you ain’t, Elsie,” Bob grunted rolling his eyes and turning away from her. “But regardless of what you or I think there are tankards that need filling and coins that need collecting. So get to it lass.”

 

Elsie huffed in aggravation once more but refrained from replying to Bob’s evident relief and flounced off to serve tankards of beer to the drunken revellers that howled for it like the uncouth lechers they were. Victorian values of prudishness and propriety only extended so far down the social ladder and _the Rose and Crown_ was not so up market that they didn’t get the odd shifty customer who would prefer to flip skirts than pay his tab. It was people like this that had Bob reaching for the cudgel beneath his bar and kept his arms as beefy as oak trees. 

 

Harry lay upon his pallet in the Rose and Crown and listened to the hubbub below with half an ear, his eyes sliding shut of their own accord one hand always resting on the blunt nosed dagger that he had pilfered from a housewife in Leeds. The serving wench downstairs, Elsie(?), had been pretty enough but despite being in a different time and (what he suspected was) a different universe he could not so easily forget Ginny, who despite divorcing him nearly two decades ago on amicable if irretrievable terms, was his first love. Ginny hadn’t appreciated his lack of responsibility when it came to his health or his inability to settle down. 

 

Apparently a life time of running around after a childhood with no stability could screw a man up; they really should have seen that one coming. Couple that with the fact that he was a werewolf and well frankly the divorce was practically unavoidable in retrospect. 

 

Sighing heavily, Harry rolled over, tugging the blanket up around his ear and allowed his eyes sink shut, and his consciousness to float off into Morpheus’ arms. Time enough tomorrow to decide what he was going to do in Victorian London. For now though he would sleep and regain what little strength he had left and hope to hell and back that Luna II figured out what had gone so wrong and haul his semi-frozen backside to the universe where he belonged. 

 

By Merlin he missed his family.

 

**xXx**

 

**[1891]**

 

By all rights he should be older than the eighteen years he appeared, in fact even if one took into account the strangeness that was the magical world Harry should be well and truly dead by now. At a hundred and sixty years old (or so) Harry looked remarkably well and hale; in fact one might even mistake him for being barely able to hold his liquor instead of being responsible for the half a dozen pints that surrounded him. However the crowd at the _Stag and Lion_ well knew the young Black’s drinking habits by now and a few of the old timers watched him with something akin to awe for none of them had ever been able to down sixteen pints of lager or ale at, what they thought was Black’s age without hurling for hours afterwards. 

 

Harry however, did not drink for the pleasure of the old timers or the profit of the _Stag and Lion_ , he drank to forget that he himself had been forgotten or was so out of reach that it didn’t matter whether he was remembered or not. It had been eleven years since his arrival in London and he had all but forgotten the manic Doctor with crazy brown hair or the young blonde girl he travelled with. He had almost forgotten, in his despair, the events that had led to him being stranded in Victorian London with nothing but a few coppers in his pocket to speak of the long, lonely hours spent slogging away in a factory. A place where he knew the cruelty of fists, tongue and feet better than the kindness of a gentle hand and soft touch and Harry, as he stared into the bottom of his thirteenth ale, wondered just what his life had become. 

 

The man who had been known as the Saviour, the Legendary Harry Potter had become nothing more than a drunken bum who subsisted on the intermitted kindness of poor barkeeps and serving girls in an era where weakness wasn’t tolerated in the slightest. Worse was the curse he bore, he had run out of wolfsbane years ago and had to lock himself up in the cellar of his housekeeper all the while praying to the Mother that he would not be found and killed by the Victorian sensibilities that so got him into trouble. Green eyes lifted enough to scan the pub, gleaming with savage threat as they landed upon a woman veiled all in black; even her dress was that immutable shade and Harry’s lips lifted in a bare snarl, fear thrilling through him. This one had hunted him for the past two weeks, stalking his every known haunt and watching him with a mixture of disgust and curiosity on her scaled face.

 

Oh, Harry knew who she was, the Veiled Detective, a lizard woman blighted by the unnaturalness of alien-kind and he wondered if she might know the manic Doctor, who had been responsible for the first known cure of lycanthropy in living memory. The lizard woman stood and made her way out the door knowing better than he that he would follow her. If only to grasp at answers that hovered beyond his comprehensive reach. Harry stood and made to follow, pausing only long enough to throw three silver coins that more than covered his tab and staggered in a show of drunkenness from the inn. 

 

Harry knew that he wouldn’t be followed, all knew who he tailed after and none held any sort of curiosity that could bear the possibility of losing their lives. 

 

The slick streets were filled with pooling light as the Veiled Detective led the sodden drunk down an alleyway, pausing long enough to sweep the black lace veil from her face. Her green eyes were dull in comparison to his own and she was not as tall as he but there was something in her gait that suggested danger and wariness to her follower. Harry bared his teeth in a feral grin and watched with subtle pleasure as her eyes widened in surprise at the threat such an action carried.

 

“You are not of this world,” the woman claimed her voice strident and confident as she looked upon the wild-haired werewolf before her. “From where do you hail from?”

 

Harry barked a sardonic laugh and cocked his head to the side much like a curious hound might when confronted with something it didn’t know whether to play with or hunt and was considering both options carefully. “You are not the first to ask me that question nor will you be the last,” he non-answered, cunning green eyes sliding across her features. “One must admit to wondering at your own origin, Lady Detective.”

 

“Then you know me,” she said lightly, dancing around the topic she wanted answered but was unsure how to approach after the first gentle refusal. “What is your name stranger?”

 

“Harry; and your own?” Harry asked as he leant against a rain wet wall ignoring the rain drops that railed like icy fingers down his shirt. 

 

The Veiled Detective considered the man across from her carefully noting the lines of despair and weariness that creased his apparently youthful face and wondered at their origin. “Vastra, a Silurian lizard woman from the dawn of time,” came her reply, deciding to trust this strange man in light of his evident strange weariness; so like the Doctor’s.

 

Harry regarded Vastra and accepted the sally for what it was, an overture of friendship and trust. “Harry James Potter,” He admitted to more in that one sentence than in any other; if one knew the tale behind his name that was. “A human from a parallel world; or so I presume from what I have observed.”

 

“Presume?” Vastra asked keeping a remarkably level head in the revelation that the man before her was both human and from a parallel world; the Doctor would be intrigued when he- if he ever found out.

 

“I have observed this place for the same markers that occurred in my world, and have found none,” Harry replied nonchalantly, peering at his nails in a show of disinterest when Vastra could guess he was anything but. “For one, there is no magic, only science and religion which is a poor trade in my mind; worse still, is the lack of… restriction that I am used to. 

 

“I have neither kith nor kin in this place, and so find myself at a loss.”

 

“A sad tale to be sure,” Vastra replied seriously, understanding better than the green-eyed man might think his position as a sole survivor of a lost race; whether that loss is war, parallel dimensions or the intervening ages. 

 

“As all tales are, when you have neither beginning nor end,” Harry replied coolly, his voice frosting over as he detected a hint of pity in Vastra’s tone. “Why have you sought me out, Vastra the Silurian?”

 

“I have sought you out for no crude reason you may be assured, but word of your affliction has reached my ears, though just what your affliction might be even I can only guess.” Vastra began, noting the steady stiffening of her conversational companion’s shoulders. He was threatened by this line of inquiry; she would have to be careful. “Nonetheless one must profess to be curious at this strangeness that haunts you, and one wonders, if one can offer any aid to the one with the affliction.”

 

Harry smirked at Vastra’s careful wording and knew that the Silurian had a point in that he could not remain where he was for much longer, indeed his time in London would be running short soon what with his apparent inability to age. “If one asked the one offering aid for lodging, would the one doing the offering accept the one doing the asking, when the one doing the offering understood the nature of the one doing the asking’s affliction?”

 

Vastra blinked rapidly at that mind bending sentence before understanding Harry’s words, “of course.”

 

“My thanks,” Harry sighed, running a hand through his messy hair and he grinned broadly at Vastra who returned the brilliant expression with a slightly more reserved smile. 

 

“Well then, now that is sorted, shall we adjourn to my lodgings and discuss this affliction of yours?” 

 

Vastra barely waited for a reply, instead sweeping off with long strides and Harry scurried briefly in order to keep up. As the tall man followed the lizard woman through London’s muddy streets he felt a disturbance in the air that he could account for being a change in the wind. Something was coming and Harry knew that he would be right in the thick of it when it did. As Vastra mounted the steps of a newly built Victorian town house in one of the better neighbourhoods in London, Harry grinned at the thought of fighting the good fight once more. It had been so long and he had felt so lonely; now he had a partner and a cause. He could barely keep the grin from splitting his face.

 

“Who are you, girl? Are you trespassing? I’ll have you strung up by your thumbs and your thin human hide flayed from your bones!”

 

“Strax!”

 

**xXx**

 

**[1891]**

 

Strax didn’t know what to make of the new human stray that Madame Vastra had picked up; the man was brutally honest, cruelly sarcastic and addicted to the harsh alcohol called Rum. His green eyes were shadowed by terrors of his past, and even the Sontaran nurse found himself leery of Harry on the days where his mouth was set in thin lines and deep furrows marked his youthful brow. 

 

Only Vastra could get through to Harry on these black days and even then, only when she could find him. Harry took brooding to a whole new level and it was scary to see those piercing green eyes drawn together beneath dark brows, his mouth twisting into an ugly grimace as yet another client stole through the darkened library that he had claimed as an infrequent hiding spot.

 

Worse than these common black moods was Harry’s propensity towards drinking irresponsibly; as in heavily and in great excess. His tendency toward picking up his half-empty bottle of amber rum and staggering down wet city streets while muttering in languages that Strax didn’t understand was frightening. Not that Harry was unable to take care of himself, but rather that he shouldn’t have to. Strax occasionally accompanied him on these jaunts trying, to the best of his ability, to keep the sorrowing man away from the frequent brawls that occurred in the areas that the green-eyed man frequented. His muddy brown eyes watched Harry in awe as the thin man packed away yet another pint and setting the pewter mug down on the table in front of him. It joined the collection of twenty that already occupied the scuffed wooden surface of the bar.

 

Black by name, black by nature, that was what Jenny called Harry and the green-eyed man’s sardonic smile at the phrase brought to mind a lazy shark who wasn’t overly bothered at the appearance of a seal in front of it, but should that seal drift any closer…

 

No, Strax didn’t know what to make of Harry Black, Madame Vastra’s latest stray, but he certainly liked the man and admired the way he comported himself in a fight. Even Vastra and Jenny were impressed by Harry’s deductive and detective skills, his uncanny ability to read human emotions and understand human motive was almost unparalleled. Harry’s skills had already turned over the rock on three opium dens, four murder cases and one infidelity case between the Duke and Duchess of Kent; that one had apparently been well described in the high society papers. All in all, Harry made things far easier for Madame Vastra and the Paternoster Gang which Strax, in his Sontaran way, was very appreciative of.

 

The only problem Strax held with Harry Black, was that on the full moon of every month he shed thick black fur like you wouldn’t believe!

 

**xXx**

 

**[1892]**

 

When Harry returned to the Paternoster Estate for Christmas from Manchester he did not expect to be bowled over by the excitable Strax as he all but tore Harry’s coat from his shoulders and hurried him into the warmly lit conservatory. Jenny stood behind a shorter brown haired woman, her hair dressed neatly in a bun as she stared at Vastra with an expression akin to nervous excitement as she stated a single word.

 

“Man.”

 

Vastra shot Jenny a wary look and Jenny, ever hopeful and optimistic, nodded her head furiously eyes alight with an incomprehensible emotion. Harry had been away from London for over a year now and he had been out of contact while chasing various miscreants in and around Northern England. The police seemed to be constantly out of their depth necessitating in his services being called on; if Harry wasn’t paid handsomely for each contract he would have complain voraciously at the workload.

 

“We are the Doctor's friends.” Vastra began, cutting through Harry’s thoughts and surprising the werewolf with her frankness with the other woman. The Doctor had appeared on the Paternoster’s doorstep nearly ten months ago and not once had he come up in casual conversation with a client. “We assist him in his isolation but that does not mean we approve of it.” Vastra’s tone was cool and one could not read approval or disapproval in its frigid tones and the client appeared to be mildly apprehensive as she stared at the Silurian in front of her. 

 

“So… a test for you,” Vastra continued, this time her tones slightly warmer as she stared expectantly at the woman in front of her and Harry wondered if this woman would be the Doctor’s newest companion. She certainly appeared to be more intelligent than Rose had close to thirteen years ago. “Give me a message for the Doctor. Tell him all about the snow and what fresh danger you believe it presents, and above all, explain why he should help you.” The client took a deep breath, leaning forwards to speak only to be cut off by Vastra’s finger. 

 

“But do it in one word. You are thinking it is impossible that such a word exists, or that you could even find it. Let's see if the gods are with you.”

 

**X**

 

“And precisely what was the point of that test?” Harry drawled as he swaggered into the room, his suit rumpled by hard travel and even harder liquor consumed in the saddle. Harry still hadn’t given up his drunken ways, no matter how much Jenny threatened his manhood or life. Indeed if Vastra hadn’t found the green-eyed man’s antics amusing or Strax grateful that there was one with whom he could relax and be himself with, Harry held no doubts that he wouldn’t be so fondly regarded by the Paternoster gang at all. As it was he was apparently too indispensable in his various skill-sets and general all-round usefulness to be truly harmed by Jenny’s exasperation.

 

Vastra nearly jumped from her skin at the sudden voice behind her, and Jenny bit back a small smile; of all Vastra’s compatriots, only Harry was the one to surprise her so often, and with such obvious results. As it was, the silurian caught the werewolf’s smirk and bit back a foul curse, understanding that Harry was nearly three times her age and as such nearly irreverent of everyone around him. He had seen most things and done even more and she _still_ didn’t know everything about him, even a year later.

 

“Harry.” Jenny greeted the wizard with a fondly exasperated look, knowing that no censure on his behaviour would change his irascible ways. “Where’ve you been? We’ve been worried sick!”

 

“Sorry luv, I got caught up with paperwork.” Harry replied sprawling as he did so into the chair beside Vastra to the Silurian’s vague amusement his eyes glowing with mirth as Jenny stood over him like a short loveable mother hen. Having never had a mother barring the ferociously overprotective Mrs. Weasley, Harry found Jenny’s infuriated affection heart-warming and he shot her his biggest grin hoping that the sight would melt her anger.

 

Jenny sneered slightly, although the expression held no true irritation. “Is that what they’re calling it now? Paperwork?”

 

“I have no idea what you’re on about,” Harry slurred slightly, his lack of sleep catching up with him and Jenny pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed, Harry was nearly impossible to deal with in this state; how Strax dealt with the bastard on full-moon nights was beyond her. He was damn near impossible.

 

“I need to make a phone call.” Vastra announced as she made her way over to the phone and picked up the receiver. 

 

“Strax mentioned something about the Great Intelligence, isn’t that old Simeon’s gig down in Kensington?” Harry drawled his head lolling behind him as he listened to the dial tone that sang in the silence and he lifted his head enough to catch the exasperation evident on both Vastra and Jenny’s faces. “What?”

 

“Nothing,” Vastra bit out, exchanging a sour glance with Jenny and dialling a number with ease. The call was picked up after three rings, Harry smirked at the Doctor’s inability to keep his nose clean. No interfering, my saggy left testicle, he grunted to himself missing Jenny’s vexation at his irreverent behaviour; he was a grumpy old man in the fullest sense of the term and Jenny, for all her constant irritation at his conduct knew this better than most. 

 

“ _Yes, what? I'm trying to read!_ ” Came the irritable voice over the receiver. 

 

Another grumpy old man railing at the world, Harry mused fishing a pewter hip-flask from his pocket and swilling the God-awful rum inside; _well that was truly an inferior vintage_ he coughed shooting the silvery exterior a disgusted glare. 

 

Jenny smirked at his stunned coughing, _serves him right_.

 

Vastra sighed speaking lowly to her old friend and pointedly ignoring the potent fumes of the nearly green alcohol that Harry was downing like it was water. “Miss Clara and her concerns about the snow; I gave her the one-word test.”

 

“Bloody pointless that,” Harry mumbled almost missing the Doctor’s equally irritable reply: “ _Always pointless; what did she say? Well? Well?_ ”

 

“Pond.”

 

**X**

 

It was times like these that Harry wondered how the Doctor kept on living. The Darkover family stood huddled by the grave, the overcast sky casting no light upon the surrounding area and it was painfully evident that the trio were grieving hard for their lost governess. Vastra was standing beside the Doctor who waited just behind the family, patiently awaiting his turn to pay his respects at the grave side of brave Clara. Jenny and Strax were silent and taciturn, both likely wondering if this latest loss would send the Doctor even further into his grief and Harry sympathised with their worry even as he knew that there was no basis for it. 

 

The Doctor’s eyes spoke of determination and rage, no he was not listlessly waiting for someone to save him, he was beyond railing at the unfairness of life the universe and everything. The Time Lord was filled with a self-righteous rage even as he stood firmly before the storm that was coming. Harry felt invigorated just watching him and felt like lifting his head and howling with exultation, knowing that the universes greatest saviour was back in business and would be unlikely to leave again.

 

Vastra turned to the Doctor, noting with some surprise the bow tie at his throat and wondered if Harry would cease skulking in the shadows and meet with the grieving time lord. Her green eyes were distant as she thought upon all that had just occurred and found herself pondering the Great Intelligence, the Doctor had said that the snow was sentient; precisely what did that mean?

 

“And what about the Intelligence?” Vastra finally spoke, breaking the hesitant silence and she felt Harry shift in curiosity behind her; the werewolf had missed quite a bit his time locked up in the cage in the Paternoster’s basement. It was only natural that he be curious as to why he was attending a funeral for a girl he had never met, let alone barely seen. “Melted with the snow?

 

The Doctor barely shifted his gaze as he replied, his voice almost flat with disinterest at their conversation. “No, I shouldn't think so. It learned to survive beyond physical form.” 

 

“Well, we can't be in much danger from a disembodied Intelligence that thinks it can invade the world with snowmen.” Jenny said trying to invoke some humour in those big sad eyes of the man beside her; Strax managed a small smile before it slid from his face as he realised the impropriety of his actions and his brown eyes filled with faded sadness. Sontaran’s found little to be sad in funerals, they were a warrior race after all and well used to death and dying for causes not their own.

 

“Or that the London Underground is a key strategic weakness;” Vastra smirked feeling Harry’s surprised amusement swell behind her and wondered at her sudden sensitivity to her friends moods and why he hadn’t revealed himself to the Doctor yet. Perhaps the grumpy old man had learnt something of tact in the past three years with herself and Jenny and felt that it wouldn’t be proper for a reunion at the graveside of someone the Doctor held dear.

 

The Doctor ignored his friend’s attempts at levity and pulled out the calling card he had taken from Simeon before the whole mess had degraded into a disaster, when he had been filled with new enthusiasm and the joy in the hunt. Staring at the name of the company that was inscribed in black lettering across the small white square he frowned in thought. There was something familiar about that name, but what?

 

“The Great Intelligence... rings a bell... the Great Intelligence?” He murmured in thought as he watched Latimer and his children leave the graveside and re-pocketing the card he strode forwards; leaving Vastra and Jenny to hang behind trying to give him a measure of privacy. 

 

“Doctor?” The Doctor heard Jenny approach cautiously as she exchanged a concerned glance with Vastra who had little understanding for the Doctor’s sudden silence.

 

The Doctor knelt by Clara’s grave and stared at the words inscribed upon the pale grey stone, stunned amazement filling him along with an emotion that felt suspiciously like hope and joy. He glanced up at them and gestured sharply before turning back to those three impossible words that filled him with ridiculous hope. 

 

“I never knew her name, her full name.” The Doctor said quickly, he could feel his words practically tripping over themselves as they flooded his mouth. He stared at that impossible marker mouthing the three words that stood there starkly and hopefully. ‘Clara Oswin Oswald’ is inscribed in black ink on the grey stone and the improbability that there are two girls with the same name, the Doctor feels his mind almost short circuit at the thought.

 

“Soufflé girl...” He breathed to Vastra and Jenny’s utter confusion, he’d never told them of the asylum, of Amy and Rory’s near-divorce; he couldn’t it still hurt. But this, this should have been impossible; the universe doesn’t make bargains, but the evidence was incontrovertible. “Oswin - it was her.” He breathed, sounding like a man possessed. 

 

Her voice, her lovely, sweet impossible voice floated through his mind: _“Oswin Owald, Junior Entertainment Manager, Starship Alaska!”_

 

“It was Soufflé Girl again.” The Doctor exclaimed excitedly, uncaring that Jenny and Vastra were staring at him as though he was barking mad. He stood a grin mad and manic stretching his face so widely that it nearly hurt and exhilaration filling his chest and sending his two hearts crazily beating in his chest. “I never saw her face the first time with the Daleks, but her voice, it was the same voice.” He tried to explain but he was too excited, too filled with hope, she was alive. She just had to be!

 

Jenny stared at him, confusion filling her face and tone. “Doctor?!”

 

“The same woman, twice, and she died both times, the same woman!” The Doctor practically yelped, spinning around in exultation. She was ALIVE! He had no idea how or when but she was alive and he would find her and take her away. The Impossible Girl who had died twice and would live thrice. He felt like laughing.

 

“Doctor, what are you talking about?” Vastra demanded, trying to understand just what made the Doctor so happy and excited but pleased that he was no longer so listless and sad. If only she could _understand_!

 

“Something's going on, something impossible, something...” The Doctor rambled as he backed away, holding his hands up in placation still grinning broadly. “Right, you two stay here, stay right here, and don’t move an inch.” He spun and nearly ran in his haste to return to the TARDIS.

 

“Are you coming back?” Vastra called after him in frustration, she still didn’t understand what that infuriating man or his sudden and infectious enthusiasm.

 

“Shouldn't think so!” Came the hollered reply as he darted between gravestones, hands waving wildly as he tried to keep his balance.

 

“But where are you going?” Vastra shouted, confused and annoyed.

 

The Doctor paused long enough to turn around and Vastra was surprised at the wild elation that filled those big sad eyes and that grin that split his face. Beside her Jenny seemed to brighten even as she dimmed in confusion. Neither Vastra nor Jenny understood where this ecstatic enthusiasm had some from but both were glad for it.

 

“To find her, to find Clara,” the Doctor laughed madly and hurried away and Vastra quickly lost sight of the time lord as movement sounded behind her. 

 

Jenny stared at her wife in complete confusion, “but Clara's dead. What's he talking about, finding her?”

 

Vastra shrugged as she replied, still greatly confused by the Doctor’s sudden disappearance. “I don't know, but perhaps the universe makes bargains after all.” She turned to look at the headstone noting the name that had so excited the Doctor and the words beneath it: _Remember me for we shall meet again_.

 

“Very rarely, Vastra, and when it does you had better hope you read all the fine print.” Harry rumbled behind the trio, sending Jenny to the ground as she tried to spin in a circle. Harry gazed after the Doctor and sniffed very lightly, picking up the self-same scent that had characterised the Doctor he had met almost fourteen years ago... 

 

“So, that is the Doctor then; he’s quite a bit different to the skinny rake I met fourteen years ago.” Harry noted idly, running a hand through his hair.

 

“Is he really that different from when you last met?” Jenny inquired, knowing that Harry had been searching (if half-heartedly) for the Doctor for years and was quite confused as to why he hadn’t stepped forwards and introduced himself.

 

“He’s shorter and worse dressed now.” Harry replied with an irreverent grin, “with a dickey bow tie hung ‘round his neck.”

 

Vastra rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Well he has regenerated since then!”

 

“I know,” Harry grinned roguishly, “doesn’t stop me from seeing that though!”

 

Vastra sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, between Harry and the Doctor she was certain all her scales would turn grey prematurely; they were infuriating. Jenny placed a sympathetic hand on her wife’s shoulder and steered the vexed Silurian towards the coach where Strax was waiting for them. Harry laughed loudly and shot the grave one last look before following behind his friends, glad that the world was safe once more. He had little doubt that the Doctor would be back and with Clara in tow; the Doctor was right after all, the short brown haired woman was more than she appeared.

 


	3. The Crimson Horror

**[Paternoster Residence, City of London, 1893]**

 

Jenny Flint, assistant Detective to the Madame Vastra led their latest client, one Mr Thursday, into the conservatory at the back of the house where the thick foliage of the many trees and bushes that shaded the room from the early morning sunlight was wreathed in a light mist that came from the humidifiers that had been placed in strategic positions around the room. A gift from the inestimable Doctor to the Madame, her Assistant and their Butler on the occasion of Melody Pond's return to her parents; even if that return had been… unusual. 

 

Madame Vastra was seated on a settee beneath her favoured weeping willow tree that had been planted in the centre of the room for that specific purpose; the Madame did so dislike the sunlight, she claimed it caused her scales to dry out and to become itchy. The Great Detective's gaze was torn from the morning newspaper detailing a series of murders when Mr Thursday, who was waved forwards by Miss Jenny, wasted little time in getting to the matter at hand. Jenny neatly rested her hands before her, her sharp brown eyes watching Mr Thursday and Madam Vastra converse, something had happened, something the Police were baffled by and Jenny was most curious as to the occasion.

 

"Thank you for agreeing to this meeting." Mr Thursday said, his gratitude seeping through every nuance of his light baritone voice. "I'm told you are the investigator to see if there are strange goings-on."

 

Madame Vastra smiled a Mona Lisa smile beneath her heavy black veil and Jenny mimicked it, understanding her wife's humour at the wording. They really would have to send Doctor Doyle flowers at some stage; but for him they wouldn't be half so well known. Even Harry, bastard and rogue though he was, gained a pretty penny from Doctor Doyle's writings in _The Strand_.

 

"I read of your brother's death. Another victim of the Crimson Horror, I believe,” Vastra announced precipitously her flat tone hiding the intense curiosity that she bore for the phenomenon. It sounded horribly familiar but so far Harry had been unable to crack the case. Mind you, he was corresponding with the police while in Plymouth. Such a busy man these days, Vastra smirked, she had known that he would thrive under these strange circumstances; it did take such a special kind of person. And who was more special or more strange than a werewolf?

 

Mr Thursday nodded cautiously. "So it is claimed. He was a newspaper man; he and a young woman were working undercover." Mr Thursday paused in his narrative long enough that Jenny could detect the hesitancy in his next words. "Tell me, Madame, do you know what an optogram is?"

 

Vastra laughed dismissively. "It is a silly superstition, sir. The belief that the eye can retain an image of the last thing it sees." Her eyes rolled beneath the thick veil to share her amusement with Jenny who smiles in reply. There was no scientific evidence to support the phenomenon, even the Doctor, learned as he was, dismissed such fancy.

 

Mr Thursday was not to be halted however now that he had his nerve back and, disregarding Madame Vastra's dismissive commentary regarding optograms, he held out a hazy photograph of his brother's eyes. It was eerie staring into the dead orbs that had once been so filled with the joy and love of life but the Madame needed to understand just what was so… disconcerting about them.

 

Madame Vastra reluctantly took the optogram and peered at it before shock stilled her movements. Without further ado the Madame threw back her veil revealing her scaled face to the disbelieving Mr Thursday her eyes wide with surprise. "Good grief!" She exclaimed causing Jenny's brows to rise, just what was so surprising about this photograph? Could it be that the Doctor had been wrong about them?

 

Mr Thursday stared at Madame Vastra, eyes trailing over the luminescent green scales and alien features. "Oh, god," he breathed before keeling over backwards, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

 

He landed with a hollow thud and the Madame stared down at him in surprise. "How remarkable," Madame Vastra commented.

 

Jenny could barely hold back a snort of laughter.

 

**xXx**

 

**[Black Residence, City of Manchester, 1893]**

 

Harry entered his Manchester residence after having attended a case down in Plymouth to the obnoxious ringing of the telephone, he paused in askance at the phenomenon as he still wore his travelling clothing and felt more than a little uncomfortable covered in mud and debris as he was. However curiosity quickly won him over and he swiftly made his way over to the back enamelled machine, barely noticing his butler's efficient movements in clearing his luggage from the entryway.

 

The phone rang a sixth time and he answered with the propriety that a well-to-do gentleman was expected, wondering just who would be calling him at this late hour.

 

"Mister Black."

 

"Harry, its Jenny; we need you to come in."

 

"Jenny Flint, voice of a nightingale; how wonderful to hear from you,” Harry drawled as he leant indolently against a nearby wall. "What can I do for you this time?"

 

"The Madame has a case for you." Jenny's voice drifted over the telephone with a hint of challenge. Jenny was always challenging Harry, she felt his idle and incautious ways were ill suited to one of his station.

 

"And where would this case be?" Harry asked barely able to keep the grin from his face.

 

"Sweetville, Yorkshire!"

 

Harry raised a black brow in mild surprise, "you have a lead then?" He had been conversing regularly with the MET department in Yorkshire and had yet to turn over anything of substance. It did not surprise him that the Madame was swift to insert herself into the strange and mysterious matter. The Sweetville Case had been next on his list of 'Things To Do', only Madison had been less enthused.

 

"Us? No." Jenny's reply was distorted by movement in the background and Harry could hear Madame Vastra ordering Strax around in the background.

 

"Then why are we investigating an admittedly strange but otherwise elementary case?" Harry inquired drolly, peering at his nails in false nonchalance; his eyes gleamed with hidden interest because Jenny wouldn't be ringing him if she didn't have something to bait him with. Besides which the idea of men and women being turned to red wax? Their faces transformed into an expression of horror unseen by the living eye? In what way was he supposed to avoid this intriguing case?

 

"The Doctor himself has requested our presence," came the reply and Harry's heart ceased to beat in his surprise before it restarted at double the speed and a grin split his face in two.

 

"Well, that changes everything then!"

 

"I thought it would."

 

Harry laughed gaily as he replaced the receiver on its hook. The game, as Shakespeare might write for his fictitious hero, was afoot!

 

**xXx**

 

**[Powell Residence, City of York, 1893]**

 

Harry pulled Thanatos into a head tossing halt by a house that one of Vastra’s many contacts had lent her for the duration of their visit to York and Harry ignored the many curious looks he drew as he flung himself from the saddle. Thanatos was quickly restrained by an aggravated Sontaran as Harry darted indoors, his green eyes intent on finding the Madame of the house. He had news and he was looking forward to meeting with this _Doctor_ that could change his face upon a mere whim. 

 

It had been fifteen years since they last met; Harry had grown older and bitterer since that time while he meandered from case to case like a lost soul. If it hadn’t been for the Madame and Miss Jenny he surely would have hung himself by now out of weariness and sorrow. Even Strax’s attempts at light-hearted humour were met with tired eyes and a strained smile these days.

 

The house in Yorkshire that the Madame Detective had acquired was dirty, smelly and generally rotten in appearance, Harry sneered at the sight and ducked through a doorway and making his way through yet another corridor to where he could hear muffled voices. The drawing room was coloured in a faded dark blue and Vastra was seated upon a settee staring down at the plans to Sweetville. Harry swept the room seeking for the slight form of Jenny and furrowed his brows in concern when he didn’t find her.

 

“You are late,” Madame Vastra noted to her old friend, watching as he swept across the room with long-legged strides to throw himself down upon the couch across from her.

 

“Perhaps I am,” Harry agreed still distracted at the mystery of Jenny’s lack of appearance to scold him for putting his muddy feet on the cushions. “Where is your better half, Madame?”

 

Vastra smiled at the werewolf, he always asked after Jenny, even when he was pretending to be angry with her. “She is infiltrating Sweetville as we speak.” 

 

Vastra watched her friend go from lounging idly on the couch to seriously alarmed in one point five seconds flat. Harry’s wide green eyes filled with horror as he remembered the horrible sweetness and filthiness that permeated that place; the scent of death and dying things, of poison and cruelty. Why on Earth would Vastra send her wife there?

 

“Please tell me you jest?” Harry whispered with dread.

 

Madame Vastra stared at the green eyed werewolf with growing apprehension, “I do not jest, Harry; about Jenny I never would.”

 

Harry closed his eyes tightly and breathed in deeply; his acute sense of smell deciphering the various scents in the air around him. There was the earthy, musky scent that characterised Vastra, the spicy, sickly smell of Strax who was a clone and the sweet, fresh scent of Jenny, the only human. Jenny’s scent was faded; she had been in the room but not for hours. 

 

“Damn.” Harry cursed softly, his fingers dipping to his belt to brush along the metal surface of his hip-flask before retreating once more. He would need his head to be clear for this case as Harry suspected Mrs Gillyflower, the owner and proprietor of Sweetville to be far more deadly than she appeared. 

 

“What is it, Harry; what do you know?” The Madame asked her companion, her scaled face anxious in the face of Harry’s uncharacteristic sobriety. Jenny would be shocked and joyous if she ever found out; she was forever going on about Harry’s poor behaviour.

 

Two sets of green eyes clashed together as Harry drew in a second fortifying breath and began his tale. “Sweetville lies on the outskirts of York; its gates are made of heavy iron and bear the seal of the compounds name. The air is thick with the sickly sweet stench of rotting flesh and the very air is a poison from which you cannot escape. I scouted the compound, although I did not enter, there are three sets of guards that will need to be neutralised before we can enter.”

 

“This we already knew,” Vastra interrupted as she tapped the paper before her. “We are not as ill-prepared as you might believe, Harry. Jenny knew the danger she was getting into-”

 

“I sincerely doubt that!” Harry barked sharply his eyes fierce. For better or worse Vastra, Jenny and Strax were his pack and he would be damned before he lost them. 

 

“Just what has you so frightened?” Vastra demanded, her anxiousness overruled by her irritation at Harry’s back talk. It wasn’t like him to challenge her ever decision or to doubt Jenny’s abilities.

 

Harry paused, breathing heavily as he stared at the woman who had saved him from an existence marked only by the turning of the seasons. Vastra had given him purpose, Strax had given him companionship, but Jenny, for all her ridiculous mothering, her annoying propensity to judging his bad habits, had given him a home. It was strange to think that despite all their arguments, all their snappish retorts that Jenny would be the one that Harry would miss most if he suddenly disappeared back home. 

 

And Harry wasn’t even sure if his dimension _was_ home anymore, he certainly felt more at ease here. 

 

“I don’t know,” Harry finally admitted, not sure he could put into words the skin crawling feeling that Mrs Gillyflower inspired in him. “I just know that something is very wrong at Sweetville and I cannot stress enough just how dangerous it feels to me.”

 

Vastra smirked wickedly, thinking of something the Doctor had mentioned once about one of his companions. “Are your wolf senses tingling, Harry?”

 

Harry gaped at her, “no!” He yelped scandalised. “Don’t ever say that again!”

 

Vastra chuckled at him. “You’re so easy to tease, Harry.”

 

Vastra was saved from the sight of Harry pouting pathetically as Strax stumped into the room bearing a long limbed male human who was passed out and snoring loudly. “What is this?” Vastra asked her friend and butler as he gently placed the human on the couch while shoving Harry from the comfortable surface.

 

“Strax!” Harry complained as he picked himself up off the floor. “Must you always be so violent?”

 

“It asked for permission to enter and then it fell over.” Strax answered the Madame while ignoring Harry’s put upon hurt expression. Madame Vastra peered at their client with an amused expression on her face, clearly in a good mood. “What are we to make of it?”

 

“I imagine Mister Thursday wants to know what progress we are making.” Vastra answered vaguely, flicking her eyes at Harry who was watching them intently. “The question is, how did the Doctor's image come to be preserved on a dead man's eye? It's a scientific impossibility.”

 

“Whoa! Wait just one second!” Harry interjected to the Madame and Vastra met Harry’s eyes blandly. Behind them, Strax picked up a nearby palm frond from one of the Madame’s potted plants to fan the client with. Vastra never left home without a collection of plants; something about feeling unnerved without being near greenery. “You mean to tell me that we are interrupting the Doctor’s own investigation and that he _didn’t_ ask for our aid?”

 

“Naturally,” Vastra murmured. “I wonder how Jenny is getting on.” 

 

Strax looked up from where he was fanning Mr Thursday, his muddy eyes lit up with eagerness. “If she hasn't make contact by nightfall, I suggest a massive frontal assault on the factory, madam. Casualties can be kept to perhaps as little as eighty percent.” Strax said brightly. Harry groaned and slammed the palm of his hand to his face.

 

Vastra shot Harry an amused glance before turning to reply to Strax’s suggestion. “I think there may be subtler ways of proceeding, Strax.”

 

Strax shrugged indifferently knowing better than to question a superiors order. Although he did wonder at Harry’s repeated head bashing against the wooden table; the werewolf could hurt himself if he continued. “Suit yourself.”

 

“I think we had best get to the root of this problem,” Vastra said, elevating her voice above the repeated thudding of Harry’s head on the table surface. “Harry, darling, you really should stop now; no amount of self-inflicted pain is going to change Strax.”

 

Strax turned to the Madame and frowned. “Why would I change? I do not think I am able to change, all Sontaran’s look as I do.”

 

Harry groaned again and made to smash his head into the table once more but a gentle hand stopped him. Vastra tried to be serious but Harry and Strax’s interactions were amusing and varied; she couldn’t quite work out if they loved or hated each other. Strax turned back to fanning the client while Harry straightened and met Madame Vastra’s eyes.

 

“I think we have an appointment with the mortuary.” Vastra announced.

 

“Excellent!” Strax enthused as he dropped his fan and walked from the room, shouting over his shoulder as he did so: “I’ll go get my coat!”

 

Harry turned to Vastra in incredulity, “he wears a _coat_ now?!”

 

**xXx**

 

**[York Mortuary, City of York, 1893]**

 

The Morgue was a dull, grey, squat building with tall, thick chimneys that belched wretchedly sweet smelling and black smoke. Harry hid himself within the depths of Madame Vastra’s carriage; his friend was once more swathed in a thick black veil and an appropriately modest dress. The lizard woman watched him quietly; she knew how he hated mortuaries; the scent, the sight and the sounds was enough to make him hurl. Even now he was whey faced and queasy stomached. 

 

“You do not have to accompany me in,” Vastra murmured quietly as Strax pulled the coach to a halt at the front door. “You know Jenny would not think less of you.”

 

Harry cast her a sideways look, “she might not, but I assuredly would.”

 

Vastra huffed a laugh at Harry’s consistent arrogance, watching him slip from the carriage and hand her down. Harry could be surprisingly gentlemanlike when the fancy took him; particularly if Jenny was nearby. If Vastra hadn’t been confidant about her relationship with her wife and in Harry’s own non-sexuality, she might worry about the pair. But Harry wasn’t like that and neither was Jenny and their relationship was more father-daughter than anything else.

 

The morgue stunk of death and antiseptic, the artificial light casting deep shadows across Harry’s face and Vastra could almost mistake him for being dead himself. His green eyes had never appeared so dark or dangerous to her than in that moment.

 

York’s mortician was named Amos, Harry didn’t inquire as to his first; he wasn't interested. It took all his self control not to gut the man for his terrible decorum and lack of respect for the dead. A man who had grown up in the middle of a war and then gone on to become the equivalent of a policeman, Harry took poor note of such things.

 

“Them new manufacturers can do horrible things to a person.” Mr Amos said gleefully, macabrely happy about the entire situation. Harry cast the man a sideways glare disgusted at the man’s failure to respect the dead. “I've pickled things in here that'd fair turn your hair snowy as top of Buckden Pike.”

 

Vastra ignored the mortician’s poor decorum. “You know what I'm looking for.”

 

Mr. Amos agreed readily enough, rubbing his hands together in macabre cheer, “oh, aye. All them bits found in t’canal.” He made his way over to a cabinet, opening the doors, “the Crimson Horror,” Mr. Amos announced, holding out a large bottle half full of red liquid. 

 

Harry took the bottle as Vastra spun around to glare at the far wall. The werewolf sniffed at the seal, ignoring the lizard woman’s dramatics. It stunk of vats, chemicals and, something he was hesitant to label as death. Behind him, Vastra threw back her veil with her back to Mr. Amos who was watching the duo with barely concealed curiosity. 

 

“It hardly seems possible,” Vastra complained mutely, her gloved hands waving before her face as if tracing designs in the air.

 

Mr. Amos blinked in confusion, “eh?”

 

“I think,” Madam Vastra mused, “I think I've seen these symptoms before.”

 

“Oh aye?” Mr. Amos asked, satisfaction leaking into his tone. “That right?”

 

“A long time ago,” Vastra added, her voice tailing off in remembrance.

 

Harry grunted in disgust at their exchange, setting the bottle down beside the dead man. The waxy red skin matching the bottles contents in a horrible foreshadowing of the future. Harry was now dead set certain that this was not of _human_ origin. No, there was something truly terrible at work here.

 

“Oh aye?” Mr. Amos was asking, his curiosity limiting his apparent intelligence and vocabulary, Harry thought uncharitably. “How long’s that then?”

 

Vastra spun around and met Mr. Amos’ stunned gaze, “about sixty five million years!”

 

**xXx**

**[Sweetville, City of York, 1893]**

 

Harry had followed Madam Vastra with great swiftness into her darkened carriage, neither answering Strax’s calls for direction. The lizard woman was trembling with fear and rage, her green eyes blazing with memory and a passionate desire to kill. Harry watched his friend with wary curiosity, it had been some time since he had seen the Madam so undone and emotional. 

 

“Vastra, speak to me, what is wrong?” Harry demanded, his voice tight with worry. “What is this sickness?”

 

Vastra waved her hand dismissively, her lips thin. “There’s nothing to say-”

 

“The hell there isn’t!” Harry barked, ignoring the hammering of Strax’s fist on the roof, his demands for an explanation unheeded. “Vastra, tell me what is wrong!”

 

Vastra met his eyes, anger burning deep within their viridian depths, “there is no cure! We died,” Vastra panted, her hands shaking as she reached for her veil, moving to cover herself once more. Harry darted forwards, his hands grasping hers and stilling her movements.

 

“Who died?” He asked quietly. “Vastra, my dearest friend, please, tell me!” Harry pleaded.

 

“We, the Silurian,” Vastra answered, closing her eyes tightly, “my brothers, my sisters. Millions of us.” Vastra’s voice shook. “It was the plague of our people. Nothing stopped it. And we tried!” Harry flinched as Vastra suddenly met his steady gaze, rage like fire within her eyes. “We tried everything!” A tear escaped. “Everything.” She whispered.

 

Harry’s jaw rippled as the pieces of the puzzle fell with a solid ‘clank’ within his mind. This was Gillyflowers plan. Murder; plain and simple. Not abduction; but instead, destruction. Of everything and everyone. His hands were white upon Vastra’s wrists and the lizard woman let out a cry of pain as Harry’s wolf woke to his host’s rage and pain, snapping and snarling within the wizards mind. 

 

“I’m sorry!” Harry gasped, releasing Vastra while mentally struggling with the wolf, his eyes glowing gold. “I’m sorry!” He repeated.

 

“You’ve thought of something,” Vastra noted, her expression wary as she watched her volatile friend bare his teeth in a feral grin. Whatever happened next, would be messy, she knew that much.

 

Harry dropped his eyes to his lap, rubbing his bony hands together, massaging the blood back into his fingers. “We need to get to Sweetville.”

 

“We need a plan,” Vastra agreed, shuddering delicately at Harry’s viciously feral smile. “Strax!”

 

**xXx**

 

“Sweetville, sir,” Strax announced, opening the carriage door for the Madam and Harry. The Sontaran had apparently enlisted the aid of a street urchin, Harry stared at the boy in incredulous bemusement.

 

“Who the hell are you?” Harry demanded.

 

“Thomas Thomas, sir,” the boy answered quickly. “The good sir’s navigation aid!” The boy gave a cheerful grin.

 

“Tom Tom?” Harry groaned, rubbing his eyes. “I hate my life.” The werewolf grumbled, snatching Strax’s gun and slinging it onto his shoulder. Pulling out a small pistol, Harry held it out to the boy, “protect the coach.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Thomas cheered.

 

“Sir!” Strax yelped. “I really must protest! That is my favourite weapon!”

 

“Strax, you _are_ a weapon!” Harry shouted over his shoulder as he stalked up to the gates. 

 

Behind the wizard, Vastra stared between the boy, Sontaran and werewolf in utter bemusement before shrugging and shucking her dress, revealing a leather outfit beneath. “Shall we, Strax?”

 

Strax gave a particularly horrific grin and pulled a large gun from beneath the coach. “We shall!”

 

**xXx**

 

It took Harry less than an hour to find the corridor that Jenny was most recently scented in. It took Strax even less to realise that there was a fight up a head and with a “Sontar-HA!” charged off, his gun whirring to life in his three-fingered hands. Harry let out a groan as he and Vastra took off after the Sontaran nurse, only to skid to a halt in amusement.

 

“So hot,” Vastra mused, watching her wife take out three men with several well placed kicks and punches with glowing eyes.

 

“Okay,” the Doctor was saying as another group of men dressed as Pilgrims arrived, “time for a new plan.” The Doctor snatched up Jenny’s hand, “run!”

 

It was at that moment that Strax finally reached the duo and with another cry of “Sontar-HA!”, launched himself bodily at the Pilgrims and like a sledge hammer amongst your mothers china, dealt a great deal of damage.

 

“Strax appears to be having fun,” Harry noted, following Vastra over to the bewildered Doctor and delighted Jenny. 

 

“That he does,” Vastra agreed. The green lizard woman then turned to her wife and smirked, “lets go.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes, seriously, couldn’t Vastra keep it in her pants for one minute? “I don’t think so,” Harry announced even as Jenny shook her head.

 

“No, Ma’am,” Jenny said, “we’re not escaping.” At Vastra’s raised brow, the gentle woman hastened to explain. “We’ve got to help the Doctor with Clara.”

 

As Vastra made to question her wife further, the Doctor cut in: “long story,” the Time Lord turned to Harry with curious eyes. “Harry?”

 

“Doctor.” Harry greeted the other man, “long time.”

 

“No see,” the Doctor agreed hesitantly.

 

Strax returned with a broad grin, hefting his gently whirring gun onto his shoulder, mimicking Harry’s blasé stance. “What now, Madam?” Strax asked, scanning the corridor. “We could lay mimetic cluster mines.”

 

“Strax.” Madam Vastra warned, her tone dangerous.

 

“Or dig trenches and fill them with acid!” Strax continued gleefully.

 

“Strax!” The Madam interjected swiftly. “You're overexcited; have you been eating Miss Jenny's sherbet fancies again?”

 

Harry lifted his head in horror, “you were banned for a reason, Strax!” 

 

Strax pouted at his friends’ reactions, it had been one time and Wales had recovered. Eventually. “No.” The Sontaran grumbled.

 

“Go outside and wait for me until I call for you.” Vastra decided, “you can keep Thomas company.”

 

“But madam, I-” Strax tried to protest.

 

“Go!” Madam Vastra ordered.

 

“Fine,” Strax grumbled. “I’m going to go play with my grenades.”

 

Harry watched him leave with a whimper, please let York survive its meeting with the potato headed alien. Strax had no idea what subtlety meant! “Please, Merlin,” Harry whispered, ignoring the muttering between Jenny, Vastra and the Doctor. “Have mercy on my poor, poor head!”

 

 

“Okay,” the Doctor announced, quite randomly to Harry’s mind. “I think she's about done.”

 

The Doctor snapped open one of the cubicles that lined the walls, and Harry berated himself for not paying more attention. He truly was distracted today; it was shameful. 

 

“I know who you think she is,” the Doctor was saying, “but she isn't. She can't be.”

 

Harry peered around his colleagues shoulders, his brow raise in curiosity. 

 

“I was right, then.” Vastra said, sounding pleased. “You and Clara have unfinished business.”

 

Harry knew that tone of voice, it never boded well for men at all. Still, the werewolf blinked in shock when a dark haired, petit woman tumbled into the Doctor’s arms with a sigh. Well, Harry thought, she’s pretty at least. Reminded him a bit of his granddaughter. Same heart shaped face.

 

 

“There, there.” The Doctor soothed, righting the brunette in his arms carefully. His hazel eyes meeting her chocolaty ones. “Hello, stranger,” the Doctor smiled.

 

“Doctor,” the woman breathed and Harry felt a jolt in his chest. She _sounded_ like his granddaughter too. 

 

“Ah ha,” the Doctor hummed, holding Clara, Harry thought that’s what Vastra had said her name was, closer.

 

“Hi. What's going on?” Clara asked, scanning the corridor and staring in shock at Vastra, who was a brilliantly green lizard; Jenny, who wore the tightest fitting leather cat-suit ever; and Harry, an irreverent vagabond in a black trench coat with the biggest gun on his shoulder. Harry winked at the little woman cheekily.

 

“Oh, haven't you heard, love?” The Doctor’s voice was nonchalant. “There's trouble at mill; she’s a lizard.”

 

**xXx**

 

Harry led the way through the twisting, winding corridors, his nose constantly sniffing the dead air as he ignored Vastra’s explanation of ‘the red leech’. He’d already heard the tale before and was a bit more preoccupied with finding a way to Gillyflowers hidden suite. 

 

Clara and the Doctor had mentioned that the Madam of All Evil (Harry’s own personal title for the bitch) had a daughter and both the Madam and her daughter lived with a ‘Mr. Sweet’. Who this Mr. Sweet was, Harry didn’t know, but he sure as hell was gonna find out!

 

Leading his friends and their two tag-alongs onto a factory floor, Harry paused in the middle and spun slowly in a circle. Something that Clara had said had caught his attention, something that she was repeating to the not-listening Doctor.

 

“Clever girl,” Harry’s baritone rang out in the empty space, startling Clara badly.

 

“Oh!” Clara yelped, blushing furiously as Harry’s ever-green gaze met her own brown. “Wait, what?”

 

“Clever girl,” Harry repeated, pointing up. “Chimney.”

 

“Chimney?” Jenny asked curiously.

 

“Yes, chimney,” Harry agreed, rolling his eyes. “Go on sweetheart, tell them your clever, clever observation.”

 

Clara flushed an even deeper red as both Vastra and the Doctor turned to her in expectation. “It’s just, that,” Clara shrugged lightly, “you know, the chimney, yeah?” Clara stumbled. “It’s, well, it’s not blowing any smoke.”

 

“Clever girl,” Harry reiterated with a smug smile. “Bit like my granddaughter, that one.” He mused, missing Clara and Jenny’s utter shock at that pronouncement.

 

“Luna or-” 

 

“Luna, Doctor, always Luna,” Harry said vaguely, spinning around, frowning slightly. Something didn’t make sense here. “Luna was always my favourite.”

 

“You shouldn’t have favourites,” Jenny admonished, recovering quicker than Clara, who was still gaping, in slight dismay, at Harry.

 

Harry shrugged, “I’m an old man, Jen, Sarah and Katie forgave me.” Harry turned to Vastra and asked a question that made the lizard woman pale as snow: “why would you have chimneys that work, and never use them?”

 

**xXx**

 

“She’s going to poison the air!” The Doctor announced as he led his four companions into the boiler room. 

 

It was dark and smelly here, and only Harry appeared to have any kind of comprehension as to _why_. Crouching behind a series of metal drums, the Doctor met the werewolf’s gaze and raised a challenging brow, missing Jenny’s question. All around them were Pilgrims working at desks and work stations, flicking buttons and generally looking fairly industrious.

 

“I’m missing something,” he told the dark haired man.

 

Harry rolled his eyes, “you can’t tell just from the smell?”

 

The Doctor sniffed the air, “smell?”

 

It was at that moment that a Pilgrim, dressed in dark brown, hobbled over to a lever and tugged it down. Like the opening of a great beasts maw, the ceiling above their heads slid open and the Doctor, Jenny, Clara, Vastra and Harry found themselves looking at the base of a giant rocket.

 

“Well,” Jenny said faintly, “that answers that question.”

 

“I’ll say,” Clara agreed.

 

“What question?” The Doctor asked in confusion. At Jenny and Clara’s rolled eyes, however, the Doctor discarded any further questions to Vastra’s clear amusement. 

 

“What now?” Vastra asked the Time Lord, flicking her eyes to the side of his face. Taking in his intent profile, Vastra turned her gaze to the far side of the room and with a harsh intake of breath, watch Mrs. Gillyflower enter the room followed by two men holding a bottle of red liquid. “There’s the poison!” Vastra breathed, grinning slightly.

 

“All right, gang, I've got a plan.” The Doctor announced, standing abruptly. Clara face-palmed as something large and metallic fell from the barrel the Doctor had been crouched behind. The loud ‘clang’ was sure to gain attention. The Doctor flopped back behind the metal drums and flushed.

 

Harry smirked. Idiot.

 

“Shush.” The Doctor admonished. “Okay.”

 

**xXx**

 

Harry crouched behind the drums, nearly two hours had passed since the Doctor had explained his plan and while it had seemed like a good idea at the time, Harry was hard pressed to stick to it now. Mrs. Evil Bitch of the Red-Leech-Loving-Kind (Harry was pretty sure that he’d been infected by the wizarding world’s love for hyphens) had arrived not three minutes ago her blind daughter pinned to her front with a gun held to the girls head.

 

Grinding his teeth as he watched the Doctor and Clara plead with the crazy older woman, Harry flexed his fingers and readied himself for saving the poor girl’s life. Harry was feeling more and more frantic, his determination to be a saviour sending his mind and heart into overdrive, when Ada, Mrs. Bitch-Face’s daughter, elbowed her mother in her side and slipped free. Harry relaxed slightly at the sight of Clara clutching the older woman to her even as the Doctor pursued the Evil-Red-Leech-Lover up the staircase encircling the rocket.

 

Harry snuck closer, his eyes fixed on the suddenly victorious looking Mrs. Leech-Snogger, feeling unease sweep him. Something wasn’t right. His premonition proved correct as Evil-Leech-Co-Conspirator pulled a lever and the rocket ignited with a giant roar. Harry shielded his eyes as he heard Leech-Loving-Muggle-Voldemort screech out her happy announcement; (Vastra and Jenny had better not have failed!).

 

“Now, Mister Sweet, now the whole world will taste your lethal kiss!”

 

 

However, the Doctor had other plans, “I don't think so, Mrs Gillyflower.” The Time Lord exulted smugly, snapping his fingers. At his signal, Jenny and Vastra appeared above Mrs-Fuck-a-Leech holding the bottle of scarlet venom.

 

Mrs Gillyflower stared at the duo in mad rage, furious at the loss of her venom that would have destroyed the world and all her inhabitants. “Very well, then.” She huffed angrily, pulling out a thin metal gun and pointing it at Jenny, madness present in her eyes. “If I can't take the world with me, you will have to do. 

 

“Die, you freaks. Die! _Die_!” 

 

Shots rang out and Vastra let out a cry of horror as Jenny, in avoiding the bullets shot at her, bumped into the flimsy metal guard that was the only barrier between her and space. It didn’t hold and with a startled yell, Jenny fell. A roar of absolute rage rang out and Mrs Gillyflower turned in time to spot Harry Black sprint to the bottom of the stairs, his green eyes fixed on Jenny as she fell, his mouth a rictus of fury.

 

“Jenny!” Harry screamed and with the instinct of an impossibly powerful mage, lifted his hand and roared out two words that had all gathered gaping in shock. “ **ARESTO MOMENTUM!** ”

 

Jenny felt herself fall and she screamed, terror gripping her inside like ice and her terrified eyes met the horrified ones of her beloved wife and in a single moment she understood her fate and bade her love good-bye. Vastra was shaking her head when a shout of fury disrupted their wordless exchange and Jenny felt herself slowing quite inexplicably. Shock flooded her system as she landed with great care and gentleness on the ground and she twisted her head to meet the fury filled eyes of Vastra’s stray. 

 

Harry had _saved_ her.

 

“Wha-?”

 

Harry felt himself burning with rage and he lifted his eyes to meet the shocked ones of Mrs-Dead-Woman-Walking, power crackled around him like an oncoming storm and he bared his teeth; green eyes bleeding gold. Snarling he lifted a hand to point at Mrs-Gravity-Sucks, inside his mind he could feel the terrible fear and rage that came from watching Jenny slip and fall, and he barked a wordless command twisting his hand with a sharp yanking motion. 

 

Mrs Gillyflower screamed as she found gravity descend upon her with all the subtly of a ten ton brick and she fell; but there was no salvation for her as there had been for Jenny. Harry stood coldly aside and watched as she fell, green eyes blazing with a power that smelt of ozone, the coiling of his magic distorting the air around him and with a sharp crack, Mrs Gillyflower landed heavily upon the cement. 

 

“Ouch.” Clara said, clearly shocked by the events that he had just witnessed. Jenny’s fall had frozen her and the Doctor, and Harry’s arrival and subsequent distortion of the rules of physics had surprised the Time Lord above her. 

 

“No. No. Mister Sweet, where are you going? You can't leave me now, Mister Sweet.” Mrs Gillyflower pleaded, trying to find the creature that had promised her so much.

 

“What’s it doing,” Clara asked the Doctor, her voice sad but relieved. She watched Harry walk over to Mrs Gillyflower, his expressionless face somehow conveying deep satisfaction and she knew that the green-eyed man wouldn’t lose any sleep over his actions this day.

 

“It knows she’s dying; she is no longer of any use to it.” The Doctor replied, equally curious as to Harry’s actions. He couldn’t find it in him to be disgusted or disappointed in Harry’s actions, that Jenny was safe now was vastly relieving. 

 

Below Harry stood coldly above the Evil-Bitch and watched with strange fascination as the leech disentangled itself from Mrs-Gotta-Love-a-Leech’s skin and crawled away; it was quite disgusting, all red and bulbous with far too many teeth. But it was equally vulnerable. Harry raised his hand once more, his expression icily furious. Harry rolled his head back and smirked maliciously and breathed a single word.

 

“ **Incendio**!”

 

The Doctor jerked as Mr. Sweet swiftly caught fire and his tiny screams could be heard.

 

“NO! Mr Sweet!”

 

Harry barked a savage laugh and turned to Mrs-Not-Gonna-Live, her plea drawing his attention even as Mr Sweet burned. “You should not play with things you don’t understand woman, you should not have hurt Jenny, and you assuredly should not have made me angry. I have extracted my pound of flesh, I am satisfied.”

 

Lazily he looked up as  Vastra staggered down the stairs and swiftly embraced Jenny to her, peering into her eyes and assured herself that Jenny was safe and fine. “You saved her. How?” Vastra asked.

 

“Magic.” Harry answered, twisting his mouth into an imitation of a smile before being tackled by Jenny and Vastra who thanked him profusely.

 

**xXx**

 

Harry stood beneath a brick arch, holding the reigns of Thanatos, who tossed his head, impatient to leave. Watching the Doctor hustle Clara inside the blue box and turn to Jenny and Vastra, Harry knew that there would be questions asked of him next.

 

Shame he didn’t feel like answering then, isn’t it?

 

Smirking, Harry swung himself, unnoticed, into his thick leather saddle. It was time to leave. Before Jenny got it into her head to demand answers and for Vastra to determine that he might be better off in London. No, he couldn’t bear that, not now. Not just yet. 

 

Tipping his bared head to Strax, Harry turned Thanatos around and sent the gelding trotting down the street. The last sound he heard was the tired wheezing of the Doctor’s time and space ship, and Jenny’s vulgar curse as she realised that he’d slipped away. 

 

Yet again.

 


	4. Harry Meets Martha [Part One]

**[Farringham Village, 1913]**

 

Harry settled his horse with a firm hand, it had been years since he’d travelled so far south. His preference to remain in Scotland had been heeded well by his partners and by the various police departments around England. This was not to say they were happy about it, far to the contrary.

 

Reaching into the pocket of his vest, Harry removed a worn, slick letter that had clearly been folded many times and greased by uncountable hands. The letters were oddly rounded, as though the writer was better suited to drawing circles than to shaping English letters. The paper was thin, like tracing paper, but strong. It simply read:

 

_H.J.P.B-_

_Farrington School, 1913._

_Ask for Martha Jones_

_-D, 10_

 

He had held this letter for twenty years. It had arrived at midnight, as most of the Doctor’s favours had a tendency to do, at the hand of his old friend, Strax. It had been given to Strax by the Twelfth Doctor, a man of iron hair and cold, blue eyes. A man who had held onto this letter for three centuries before deigning to pass it on.

 

Harry drew his wand, the tip glowing slightly as he tracked for the Doctor’s time signature. A trick he had learnt on Trenzalore. Taught to him by the Silence. Green eyes shone gold in the half-light of dusk, the gently sloping landscape bleeding into houses, fences and barns. The cock crowing, the twittering of birds and the lowing of cattle warned that this place was far too sleepy and idyllic to have any sort of ‘back-up’. 

 

Harry shrugged, worst came to worst, he could always call in Strax…

 

Still, he’d rather not. 

 

Harry booted his heels into Thanatos’ sides, sending the ageing gelding skittering down the gravel road, his hooves kicking up clods of dirt. The Doctor’s signature led him to a barn on the outskirts of the town. He would settle in here for the night before searching for a more… recent signature. 

 

Bony hands clutched Thanatos’ reins tightly as the werewolf swung himself down from the saddle, the leather creaking in protest. He would have to oil it tonight. Tugging the horse after him, Harry shoved open the barn door and halted in shock.

 

It was the TARDIS. 

 

Three metres of blue painted wooden time machine. Why would the Doctor leave it here? 

 

Suspicion bloomed within his mind as Harry circled the TARDIS, his eyes narrowed in thought. Something far bigger than usual was going on here, perhaps the Doctor would explain it when he returned. The fact that the windows were dark and the TARDIS was quiet was far more worrying than anything else that Harry had yet to come across. Not even on Trenzalore had the TARDIS ever been so silent.

 

Putting aside his questions for now, Harry moved to Thanatos’ side, hoisting down the old leather saddle and the worn blanket before picking up a handful of straw and rubbing the horse down. Nimble fingers danced down Thanatos’ legs, checking for bruises and cuts. Pulling out a hoof-pick, Harry then set to wrestling with the bloody creature for possession of his hooves. Thanatos’ loathed having his hooves picked. Harry staggered backwards when Thanatos head butted his side, teeth bared and ears flattened. 

 

Snorting in annoyance, the werewolf glared at his animal companion, throwing the hoof pick down in irritation. “Fine, have painful feet then, see if I care!” Harry grumbled, stumping over to his saddle bags and rooting around in them for an apple and some jerky. Taking a bite out of a hank of smoked meat, Harry eyed the gelding. 

 

“You’re a bloody idiot,” Harry decided, standing once more, this time to wrestle with the horses bridle. Nimbly untacking the various buckles and slides, Harry then swiftly and smoothly transitioned a loose headstall over the geldings neck and dodged a bite from the cranky horse.

 

 “Damn horse,” the werewolf grunted, flopping into a pile of hay and watching Thanatos settle into one of the many broken stalls and snap up a mouthful of lucern. “Why do I even bother?”

 

**xXx**

 

It was morning when the rattling of the barn doors awoke Harry violently, his green eyes snapping open and his body already moving to subdue the intruder. His hands tightened on strong forearms while his body pinned the intruders to the rough wood wall. It was her yelp that truly surprised him however, and Harry’s eyes met the intruders stunned brown with rapid blinking.

 

“Right,” Harry said roughly, hastily releasing the young woman and scrubbing at his face tiredly. “Sorry about that, you alright?”

 

The woman bristled angrily, “the hell are you? What are you even doing here?”

 

Harry eyed the woman up and down with amusement, looks like he’d found the Doctor’s companion then. No woman of this time period would ever speak like that. “Harry James Black, at your service, Ma’am,” Harry said with a courtly bow, Jenny’s lessons in gentlemanly behaviour having somewhat stuck. “As to why I am here,” he shot her a cheeky smirk, “I’m waiting for the Doctor.”

 

The woman’s mouth opened in shock, her eyes wide, “you know the Doctor?” She breathed hopefully.

 

“Some,” Harry agreed carefully. He cocked his head to the side and considered the Doctor’s companion, “may I ask your name, my dear?”

 

“Martha Jones,” the woman replied, tilting her head in a confident manner, her back and shoulders straightening. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Black.”

 

“Harry, please,” Harry smiled genially, while wondering why the woman appeared so defiant. “Now, perhaps you can explain this?” Harry held out the letter to Martha, “I was given it some twenty years ago by the Doctor; well, one of the Doctors.”

 

Martha read the letter before Harry’s phrasing caught her attention, “sorry, what? One of the Doctor’s?”

 

Harry contemplated his answer, the Doctor didn’t always like his companions knowing such things, still, she deserved an answer. Shrugging, Harry gave his best: “Time Lords aren’t human, they can change their faces, their bodies when they die.”

 

“What, like a shapeshifter?” Martha asked, wondering if all those fantasy books she’d read as a child could ever compete with real life while travelling with the Doctor.

 

Harry tilted his hand back and forth, “yes and no. See, it’s a self-defence mechanism, much like their respiratory bypass system and touch-telepathy.”

 

Martha froze, “touch telepathy?”

 

Harry smirked, shooting her an amused look, “surely you’ve noticed how he _always_ seems to know anything. It’s not something the Doctor does regularly, but if you think too hard or too loud, well, he can hear you.”

 

“Oh God,” Martha groaned, dropping her head into her hands, mortified.

 

“Having naughty thoughts about the Doctor, are we?” Harry asked, cheekily delighted. “My, what a bad girl!”

 

“Shut up!” Martha yelped, her hand scrabbling at her throat and pulling out a silver chain. Her dusky skin masked her blush well enough, but Harry could smell her embarrassment, so thick it was. “Look, whoever you are, why-ever you’re hear, just go; okay? Just go!”

 

Martha struggled with the TARDIS’ lock and, once the door swung open, Martha darted inside, her face still burning. Oh God, she thought to herself as she flung herself onto the chair in the console room, that was just the most embarrassing thing she’d heard. He knew! He _knew_ everything! Martha covered her face with her hands and felt herself slowly shrivel up inside. He KNEW!!

 

Harry rolled his eyes and tugged out his own key, but before he could slide it into the lock, the TARDIS swung the door open for him. She’d always liked him, Harry thought smugly, stepping into the console room. Seems, despite the lack of adventures with this version of the Doctor’s TARDIS, she already knew him. It was a soothing thought. 

 

Watching Martha curl in on herself, Harry sighed almost silently, well, that could have gone better, he acknowledged. “Martha.”

 

Martha jerked at his voice, her red-rimmed eyes meeting his own. Harry sighed once more, settling beside her. “Martha,” he repeated. She moaned and made to hide herself once more. Harry grabbed her arms, stilling her movements. “Martha, look at me.”

 

“No!” She whined.

 

“Look at me, Martha,” Harry demanded, stern in his implacability. 

 

“I’m so-”

 

“Embarrassed, I know,” Harry sighed for the third time in as many minutes. Merlin, but women were tiring to deal with. “Martha, it’s not your fault.”

 

“But-” 

 

Harry cut off her protest, “the Doctor is nearly two thousand years old, Martha. He’s seen it, heard it, and felt it all before.” Harry stated with utter certainty.

 

“Nine hundred,” Martha corrected, almost automatically.

 

Harry felt amusement steal over him, “no, I know this is the tenth regeneration of the Doctor, and my calculations are quite correct. He’s closer to two thousand than one at this point in his life. He has a tendency to round down.” Harry smirked at her disbelieving stare, “I think it embarrasses him.”

 

“What does?” She asked.

 

“His age.” Harry replied, shrugging lightly, releasing her wrists. “Now, you came here for a reason; why is that?”

 

Martha’s jaw dropped as her question, spurred on by the Doctor’s behaviour with the Nurse of Farrington School, bloomed once more in her mind. “The Doctor,” Martha winced, “I mean, the human who is the Doctor-”

 

“Yes?” Harry drawled, crossing his arms across his chest and giving the dusky skinned woman his full attention. “I presume he’s used that stupid device that hides his identity.” At Martha’s questioning look, Harry rolled his eyes. “He told me about an adventure he had involving it once, not all of it of course, preservation of the timeline and all that,” Harry drawled arrogantly, “but enough for me to know what you’re going through.”

 

Martha smiled in relief, relaxing at Harry’s words. It was clear that in the future, Harry and the Doctor were quite close. “Right, well,” Martha licked her lips, “the Doctor’s, well, kinda got-”

 

“Sick?” Harry questioned. “Bored? Stupid?”

 

“No-”

 

“Oh, I know, a death wish!” Harry announced triumphantly.

 

“No!” Martha snapped. “Well, yes,” she scowled at the snickering werewolf and smacked his arm. “It’s not that!” She said crossly. “Shut up!”

 

“Sorry, sorry!” Harry apologised, still snickering.

 

“It’s this nurse, up at the school,” Martha explained, “the Doctor’s gone and fallen in love with her!”

 

Harry stilled in surprise, “love? Are you sure?” His tone was clearly skeptical. “The Doctor doesn’t fall in love.”

 

“Yes, I’m sure,” Martha snapped. “I know the signs! He’s completely smitten!”

 

Harry rubbed his jaw in thought, “that’s not good.”

 

“No, really?” Martha rolled her eyes; men, no matter the time period, were utter idiots. “I came here thinking he maybe had a contingency plan for-”

 

“What, falling in love?” Harry scoffed, “I bet he didn’t even think of the possibility.”

 

“What?” Martha looked stunned. “Why wouldn’t he?”

 

Harry shot her an amused glance, “because, it just wouldn’t have. Trust me.”

 

“What man doesn’t think that love is a possibility?” Martha wondered.

 

“The kind that has lost everything,” Harry said darkly. “The kind that is a killer, murderer and liar. The kind that gets into trouble constantly and doesn’t live a very safe life. The kind that worries that getting close to someone would mean their death and more blood on his hands.” 

 

Martha watched Harry’s lips thin and the skin about his eyes tighten. “Are you another such man, Harry?” She asked carefully.

 

“I am.” Harry met her gaze with cold eyes. “But unlike the Doctor, I never destroyed my entire species.”

 

Martha gaped at him in silence.

 

**xXx**

 

“So, let me get this straight,” Harry stated firmly as he paced around the centre console of the TARDIS. “The Doctor hid himself within a mechanical watch to avoid intergalactic assassins that feed on souls and time energy; but in doing so he leaves you to the mercy of everyone around him.

 

“This is not a kind era to be a black woman; it’s not the worst,” Harry admitted, meeting Martha’s gaze with kind green eyes, “but it’s not the best either.”

 

“Yes,” Martha replied softly, brushing her stomach where a tight ball of constant fear resided. She knew that if one of the boys at the school or men at the village raped or harmed her that nothing would be done because of her race, colour and gender. Pre-war Britain was a cruel, harsh place filled with old world values and nasty people. Nurse Redfern was one such example.

 

Harry’s jaw rippled with fury, the Doctor could be a right fool sometimes. “Right then,” Harry announced, “I think it is time I met with my old friend. 

 

“Come Martha, take me to the Doctor.”

 

Martha smiled. “I’d be glad to, Harry.”

 

**xXx**

 

**[Farrington School, Farringham Village, 1913]**

 

Martha led Harry through the rambling lawns and corridors of Farrington School towards the Headmaster’s office. The halls and grounds were silent but for the sleepy drone of teachers lecturing to their bored students and the occasional rap of a cane on flesh. Harry’s eyes blazed coldly in silent rage when the secretary outside the Headmaster’s office stopped them, her eyes sliding straight passed Martha to rest upon Harry.

 

“Yes?” She demanded cooly. “How may I help you?”

 

“Inspector Black, here to see the Headmaster about official business,” Harry replied, his face a mask of arrogance and holier-than-thou. 

 

The Secretary blinked and then nodded rapidly, “right away sir, follow me.”

 

Headmaster Rocastle stood at the window overlooking the grounds, his gaze hooded and dark. “I do hope you have tea with you, Madam, or I shall have to take a whip to you.”

 

“My apologies, Headmaster,” Harry said stiffly, “but I believe I have disturb your aid in her making tea.”

 

Rocastle spun around in surprise, “and you are, sir?”

 

“Inspector Black, late of the Paternoster Estate,” Harry replied. “Your servant girl showed me in, I do hope you will not think too harshly of her?”

 

“No, no,” Rocastle assured the werewolf, “of course not. A pleasure to meet you, Inspector Black.”

 

“Likewise, Headmaster,” Harry said, shaking the Headmaster’s hand. “I am in search of an old friend of mine, a Mr. John Smith, whom I believe teaches now at this fine establishment.”

 

“John?” Rocastle asked in surprise, “yes, he’s here. An old friend you say?”

 

“Indeed,” Harry agreed, settling himself across from the Headmaster, his gaze steady and serene. Behind him the Secretary entered again, this time balancing a tray of tea and biscuits in her hands.

 

“That black-a-more woman, Matti or whatever,” the Secretary murmured in aside to the Headmaster, “I had to send her off to do her work once more, sir. She said she’d been instructed by Mr. Black to wait for him.”

 

“Martha was indeed, asked to stay behind,” Harry drawled, causing the secretary to flush in embarrassment. “I had hope she could direct me to Mr. Smith.”

 

“There’s no need for that,” Rocastle said, waving the secretary from the room. “Mr. Smith is teaching his squad to handle a machine gun this morning, I had planned to look in on them. Would you join me, Mr. Black?”

 

“Very good sir, I will,” Harry accepted the invitation with an incline of his head. 

 

“Excellent,” Rocastle said, “then let us finish out tea and then commence onto the grounds.”

 

**xXx**

 

They could hear the sound of machine gun fire long before they could see the boys at work and Harry felt a slither of amusement as he watched the man who was the Doctor direct the boys to fire upon targets of straw holding spears. For a man of professed passivity, the Doctor managed to order his boys around like a general. 

 

“Hutchinson,” the Doctor was saying to his students with a slight smile, “excellent work.”

 

“Cease fire!” Headmaster Rocastle ordered as he and Harry drew parallel with the Doctor. 

 

“Good day, Headmaster,” the Doctor greeted civilly before noticing Harry. “Harry!” He exclaimed in surprise, “I thought you were stationed in Edinburgh!”

 

“Quite,” Harry agreed, watching the squabbling between the boys. “But then I heard you had arrived to live from the continent and simply had to visit you.” Scanning his old friend with a slight frown, Harry admitted: “I’m glad I did, John.”

 

“It is good to see you again, my friend,” the Doctor agreed cheerfully.

 

The Headmaster turned from where he’d been mediating a dispute, “Mr. Smith, I will relieve you for the rest of the day. Go, spend time with your friend; I expect you back tomorrow in time for class.”

 

“Thank you, Headmaster,” the Doctor thanked and Harry rolled his eyes at the curious boy who watched. “Come, Harry, let’s take a turn about the grounds.”

 

“Indeed,” Harry said calmly, following his old friend.

 

“Wait!” The boy yelped, his hand grasping something tightly. “Sir, are you a police inspector?”

 

“I am,” Harry agreed, turning to face the boy who bounced nervously on the spot. “Why?”

 

“Yes, what is it Latimer?” The Doctor demanded, his voice harsh.

 

“I wish to speak-” the boy gulped nervously.

 

“In private,” Harry finished for him. “Very well.” Harry turned to the Doctor and nodded at the gates, “wait for me there.”

 

“Latimer!” Rocastle roared.

 

“One moment, Headmaster!” Harry shouted, before turning to the boy. “What do you have for me, Latimer?”

 

Latimer gaped and then shook himself. “Right, sorry sir. It’s just,” Latimer fidgeted. “This!” He shoved his hand out, a watch resting on the palm of his hand.

 

Harry stared at the watch silently for a moment, “do you know what this is, boy?”

 

“Sort of, sir,” Latimer admitted. “It speaks to me sometimes.”

 

Harry’s gaze clashed with Latimer’s own. “Indeed,” Harry mused. Harry accepted the watch with care, sliding it into the pocket of his pants. “You will tell no one of this, understood?”

 

“Yes, sir,” Latimer agreed. Harry turned from the boy and started to walk away. “Sir!” Latimer called, and Harry half turned to meet the boys gaze. He raised a brow. “It’s just, the things the watch told me,” Latimer shrugged helplessly, “are they real sir?”

 

“Just because something sounds impossible, doesn’t mean it’s not real, Mr. Latimer,” Harry replied with a sly smile. “A good day to you.”

 

“And you as well, sir,” Latimer said, running back to the group of students under the Headmaster’s eye. Harry didn’t doubt the boy would be whipped tonight, for his disobedience.

 

Falling into step with the Doctor, Harry toyed with the watch in his pocket. Beside him the Doctor was silent and still, for all that they walked between hedges and along paths. Neither broke the silence, knowing that harsh words would have to be said, and had they not run across a woman in a nurses outfit.

 

“Ah, Nurse Redfern!” The Doctor greeted with a delighted smile.

 

“Mr. Smith,” the Nurse smiled gently, “how are you?”

 

“Quite well, quite well indeed,” the Doctor chirped, bouncing slightly. Harry watched the interaction with growing concern, this was not good.

 

“And your companion, Mr. Smith?” The Nurse asked, her eyes curious.

 

“Mr. Harry Black, at your service,” Harry greeted, bowing slightly. “A pleasure to meet an acquaintance of John’s.”

 

“Yes,” the Doctor ceased his bouncing, looking worried. “Harry is an old friend, Nurse Redfern; a very old friend.”

 

“Then I shall leave you to your reacquaintance,” Nurse Redfern said hastily, not liking the way Harry was watching her. She felt most uncomfortable beneath that stern green gaze.

 

“That’s-” 

 

“Very kind of you,” Harry accepted, cutting off the Doctor’s protest. “I have things I need to discuss with my friend, a pleasure meeting you, Miss. Redfern.” Harry bowed once more and moved aside, allowing the flustered nurse to slip by.

 

“Harry-”  

 

“John.” Harry said steadily.

 

The Doctor subsided, “very well. Shall we adjourn to my chambers then?”

 

“That’s hardly necessary, John,” Harry replied, moving further along the walkway. “Although, I am surprised that you have moved on from Rose with such ease.”

 

The Doctor flushed, his gaze stricken, “I-”

 

“Forgot about her?” Harry asked shrewdly, “just what has happened to you, John? Poor Martha is at her wits end!”

 

“Martha?” The Doctor asked, stunned by the turn in conversation.

 

“Yes, Martha,” Harry snapped, angry at his friends unconcern. “The devoted woman who you rescued, remember her? The black woman who is spat at and scorned for the colour of her skin? The woman you apparently have quite forgotten during your time here!” 

 

Harry regarded his friend in disgust, “I never thought you would be so turned by a pretty face that you could forget those nearest and dearest to you, John.”

 

“I-” The Doctor held his head, as if he were in great pain. “I had forgotten…”

 

“I know you had,” Harry growled, shaking his own head tiredly. “Martha and I had quite the candid talk before I came to find you. She is most concerned with your behaviour and is questioning everything you once told her. 

 

“Do you forget the promise you made her? To treat her as an equal? Or has Miss. Redfern’s disgust and scorn been so easily transferred?”

 

“No, no!” The Doctor protested, horrified. “She would never- I would never- !”

 

“But you have, old friend,” Harry replied, coming to a stop beneath an old willow tree beside a pond; “and Martha is wondering what she has done wrong to deserve the treatment you have given her.”

 

The Doctor hung his head, covering his face with his hand. “What have I done?”

 

“Nothing easily fixed with your words, but perhaps with actions?” 

 

The Doctor nodded, “indeed, I will talk with Martha tonight. You say that she has been hassled by the students?”

 

“And men from the village,” Harry agreed. “Martha knows that any accusation she makes, no matter how true, will never bear fruit. Quite frankly I’m tempted to send her to the Paternoster Estate in London for her safety. There have been unpleasant threats made, John,” Harry sighed, rubbing at his eyes.

 

The Doctor looked sorrowed, “I just wanted a life of my own.” 

 

“I know, John, I know,” Harry sighed once more. “But such things are out of your control.”

 

“I understand,” The Doctor sighed himself, running a hand through his hair. He gazed up at the sky, watching the sun reach its zenith and then crest over, sinking towards the horizon. They had been talking for hours, now. It was no wonder his throat ached.

 

“What should I do?” The Doctor asked his friend.

 

Harry shrugged and smiled, “don’t forget your past, don’t forget Rose and especially don’t forget Martha. You owe them too much.”

 

“Understood,” the Doctor nodded heavily, “thank you my friend.”

 

“Any time, John.” 

 

**xXx**

 

**[TARDIS Barn, Farringham Village, 1913]**

 

“You’re sending me where?” Martha demanded, following Harry through the TARDIS’ halls, her voice unhappy.

 

“To the Paternoster Estate in London,” Harry replied, repeating himself for the third time. Martha hadn’t been happy with the suggestion. “I have friends there who will treat you as you ought, as a twenty-first century woman.”

 

“But I wanted to go to the dance tomorrow,” Martha flushed, utterly embarrassed with her winy excuse.

 

Harry turned and met her eyes with an incredulous expression, “a dance, seriously?”

 

“Yes, a dance!” Martha said defiantly. “All the servants were invited; and I have a new dress!”

 

Harry regarded her with a slight smile, “a dance, truly?”

 

“Yes, a dance,” Martha huffed. “Is that so hard to fathom?”

 

“With you?” Harry teased, “most definitely!”

 

“Oh you!” Martha hit Harrys arm with a roll of her eyes. “Fine, I’ll go to this estate of yours. Staying safe, but you and the Doctor both owe me a dance when he becomes, well, _him_ again!”

 

“I’ll warn him,” Harry solemnly promised.

 

“You do that,” Martha grumbled. “Now, where is this place?”

 

Harry smirked, “in London.”

 

Martha rolled her eyes again, “so you’ve said.” Martha agreed, trying to regulate her breathing and _not_ slap him again. “But _where_ in London?”

 

“Paternoster, London,” Harry sounded amused. “Madam Vastra recently bought the adjoining houses and connected them.”

 

“So, what, it’s in Paternoster and named after Paternoster?” Martha asked, stunned. “How much money do these friends of yours have?”

 

“A fair amount,” Harry shrugged nonchalantly. “As for how you’re getting there, I’ll buy you a cab.”

 

“So, I’m not taking your horse?” Martha asked cheekily.

 

“Not bloody likely!” Harry yelped, “Thanatos would be your death!”

 

“You named your horse, _Thanatos_?!” Martha exclaimed.

 

“Yes,” Harry snapped defensively, “so?”

 

Martha chuckled, waving her hand, “nothing, nothing; really, it’s nothing!”

 

“Sure,” Harry eyed her suspiciously.

 

“So, Paternoster?”

 

**xXx**

 

**[Village Hall, Farringham Village, 1913]**

 

Harry stood in an alcove, watching the happy couples dance to the quartet of violins and a piano; it was quiet, too quiet. A part of Harry knew something bad was going to happen tonight, making him extremely glad that Martha was safe and sound on her way to London. Nearby the Doctor was chatting with with several of the locals, his eyes occasionally straying to Miss. Redfern, who had a clique of women gathered about her, tittering and gossiping. 

 

Harry felt his eyes drawn to a little girl in a party dress and a balloon seated in a chair. There was something wrong about her, and Harry allowed his eyes to slide across her, while remaining fully attuned to her every movement. Movement outside temporarily distracted him as two men entered the village hall.

 

Harry straightened, watching Latimer whiten with fear and back away from the duo and the little girl slide off her chair and join the other two. Oh yes, something was very wrong here. The large, older man ordered the gathering around, his beady eyes searching for something. No, Harry corrected silently, some _one_.

 

“We asked for silence!” The boy, Baines, snarled, his dark eyes feral. “Now, then,” he smiled oilily, “we have a few questions for Mr. Smith!”

 

The girl smirked, “no, it’s better than that, brother-mine.” The boy turned to the girl curiously. “The teacher, Mr. Smith, is the Doctor!”

 

“You became a human,” the man cooed, “how precious!”

 

“Of course I’m human!” The Doctor protested, stunned; his voice drawing a bemused Miss. Redfern’s gaze. “We’re all human here!”

 

Harry chuckled darkly, threading his way through the crowd, “not all of us, John.” His voice was smooth and dark like molasses, his eyes keenly fixed upon the three aliens. “You’re not, are you?”

 

Baines and the girl, Lucy, exchanged glances, “who’s asking?” Baines asked.

 

“Inspector Black,” Harry introduced himself. “Friend to the Doctor.”

 

The man, Mr. Clark, stiffened in shock and delight, “and you know where he is?” 

 

Harry smirked and drew from his pocket the pocket-watch that Latimer had given him. “He’s right here,” Harry stated, “John is quite correct, he is fully human.”

 

The man who had been the Doctor stared at his old friend in shock, “Harry, what are you on about?”

 

“Hush, John,” Harry dismissed the human, “this doesn’t concern you, after all, you’re only human.”

 

John Smith stared at Harry in injury, “and you are not?”

 

“Not entirely,” Harry agreed, his eyes shining feral gold. 

 

“Enough of this!” Baines snarled, shocking John silent and sending chills down Harry’s spine. “Give us the watch!”

 

“Or what?” Harry questioned, not entirely certain he’d like the answer.

 

“Or she dies!” Baines crowed triumphantly, holding his arms out from his body, a vicious grin on his face, and a woman, the servant girl, Jenny, entered the hall, her fat arms wrapped around a girls throat and waist, restraining her with a knife held at her throat. The girl stared at Harry and John, her eyes pleading and frightened, her hands trying to grip Jenny’s. To stop her death that was rapidly approaching and Harry gritted his teeth and gripped the watch tightly, anger surging through his veins as he saw no way to save her. 

 

“Martha!” John moaned in despair, staring at the woman he only knew as a devoted servant and his closest confidant. Beside him, Harry trembled with rage.

 

“Let. Her. GO!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we both remember this is an Unfinished WIP (writing in progress) that will be updated.. sporadically at best. Apologies for that. I hope you enjoyed the tale nonetheless.


End file.
